


Les ressuscités

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: The Insufferables [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anorgasmic sex, F/F, F/M, Impotence, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Romantic Cuddling, Science Fiction, Sexless polyamory, Super Soldiers, reference to severe injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-14 00:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 50,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Used and abused by the military, the inseparables must now make new lives. In the process, they help others.





	1. The Garrison

**Author's Note:**

> Contains possible fatal levels of fluff and cuddling. And somehow, Athos has become the mother. I have no idea how that happened :)
> 
> Each chapter in this story will focus on different newcomers to the new home the boys have built for themselves. Only the last one will have anything reasonably resembling a plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four are building a house, and making a home.

Twelve months after Athos received the first successful gene switch therapy, Dr Lemay cautiously predicted that he could expect to live at least ten more years. To most men of thirty-six, that would hardly be good news. To Athos, it was the trigger he needed to begin the next stage of his life, and to leave a legacy he would be proud of.

He and his brothers remained in the military for the moment, purely for the benefits they could enjoy while Lemay continued the investigation into a cure for the fatal side-effects of enhancement, and treat them appropriately. No one expected them to be on active duty. They were rarely well enough for much of the time, with all four suffering medical emergencies related to their erratic immune systems. Being without a meaningful occupation for the first time in his life, Athos chose to make a home for all of them where they could be safe and loved.

Bereaved of one child, his parents took on Athos’s wounded comrades as if they were their own sons. They lived in his parents’ chateau for a year and a half, until the farm adjoined the estate came up for sale. His father bought it, and handed it over to Athos. “Build a house, make a home. Be there where we can see you, and where we can help you.”

What did Athos know of building a house? Nothing. But in the nearest town lived a young architect, Elodie L’Archer and her business partner, Matthieu Flament, an ex-military engineer, now a qualified builder. Athos and his brothers had a meeting with the two, and poured out all their hopes and dreams for a sanctuary.

“Horses,” Athos said. “And a library.”

“A herb garden,” Aramis said. “And a panic room.”

“Big beds in bedrooms,” D’Artagnan said. “And a vineyard.”

“A place to eat and talk together,” Porthos said. “And places to be alone, but with the others close by.”

Rooms to make things in. A kitchen big enough to feed twenty if needed. Quarters for soldiers who needed a safe place to heal. Chickens, goats, a secure water supply, and wind power. The list went on for ten pages.

Athos expected them to baulk, but Elodie had smiled as if she’d been given a particularly wonderful gift, and gone straight to work. Matthieu started costing materials, and finding out how much labour the brothers wanted to put into it all. And within a month, work began, using the original farmhouse as the anchor for the rest of it, and hi-tech German prefabs as much as possible.

All of them worked as labourers for Matthieu, learning carpentry, bricklaying, and plastering as they went. By the time they closed down work for the winter, each of them had their own, large bedroom with a king-sized bed. Athos had a kitchen, Porthos his congenial dining room, Aramis the first plots of his eventual herb and vegetable garden, and d’Artagnan, an area of land being prepared for vines. Water tanks, animal sheds, and the panic room were all installed.

For Xmas, Athos’s parents gave him Roger, the fifteen-year-old stallion he had always ridden when at home, and a beautiful bay mare called Chayse, who was already pregnant with Roger’s foal. “If you can’t manage the foal, we can keep it until it’s old enough to ride,” his father had said.

But d’Artagnan, raised on a farm, was already glowing with happiness at the prospect of raising and training a horse from birth, and what made d’Artagnan happy was not something Athos would ever had the heart to deny. They had ten months before the foal was due, and with his typical learning speed and innate skill, d’Artagnan would be a master of horse husbandry by the time it arrived, Athos was certain of it.

Colonel Treville and the Lemays joined the de la Fères for ten days over Xmas, as did Ninon Larroque, the ferocious and brilliant lawyer who had won the brothers, and other victims of the enhancement programme, generous compensation, pensions and retirement at a higher rank for all of them.

Athos liked Ninon a lot, but her obvious interest in him was awkward. Having watched her follow Athos around all day and flirt non-stop, d’Artagnan made his opinion clear. He wrapped himself around Athos in their bed, kissed his ear, and whispered, “You need to let her down gently.”

“I know.”

“She is gorgeous, though. Smart, funny. Terrifying,” he added with a little laugh.

“I know.” Athos sighed and rolled towards d’Artagnan. “I haven’t been in this position before.”

“Ask Aramis for advice?”

Athos grinned. “I don’t think _Aramis_ has any experience of turning down beautiful women, do you?”

“Maybe not.” D’Artagnan’s lips were right there, so Athos kissed them, allowing himself to become lost in the sensuousness of d’Artagnan’s lush mouth and clever tongue. They were naked, as had become their habit even when the others were with them. They didn’t want any barrier between them, or their bodies. But even with d’Artagnan’s warm brown skin against his, his long fingers stroking him freely and with skill, Athos felt no arousal. Pleasure, yes. A need for more of the same, yes. But his cock remained as limp as it had been for two years, and likely always would do. With d’Artagnan’s arms around him, that fact was never the tragedy that others like Lemay assumed it would be.

“She must know the medical stuff,” d’Artagnan said a little later. “To make the claims for compensation.”

“Perhaps she thinks she can cure me nonetheless.” Athos nuzzled d’Artagnan’s throat. “Maybe I should let her see you naked. If you can’t make me hard, what chance does she have?”

D’Artagnan huffed out a laugh. “You could be secretly heterosexual.”

“Love, not even my mother believes that.

Rather to Athos’s surprise, the following day Ninon kept her distance. All their friends came over to the new house to inspect progress, and Ninon joined them, but she said barely a word as Porthos proudly led the tour.

“And when will the garrison be finished?” Treville asked when they all ended up in the dining room cum living area. Athos had made spiced red wine to warm them all up.

“‘Garrison’?” Aramis asked.

“It’s a lot more than barracks, isn’t it?”

Aramis caught Athos’s eye before saying, “Are you suggesting we’re protecting the estate, colonel?”

“Aren’t you?” Athos’s mother asked, her eyes twinkling. “I know I feel much safe with you all around.”

“We were going to call the farm ‘The Refuge’,” Athos said. “Descriptive if not inspired.”

“‘The Garrison’ is cooler.” Porthos been unenthusiastic about the first suggestion, because he said it made the farm sound like a lost dogs’ home.

“Yes, it is. All in favour?” Athos asked. Every hand in the room went up. “There you are, colonel. You’ve named your first farm.”

Amid general laughter and christening the farm with the warm wine, Ninon was the only one holding back. While Athos was clearing up, she came into the kitchen and stood close enough that he could feel the heat from her body on his face. “I have an apology to make, Athos.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“I do. Um...Jean had a chat with me last night. He explained that you, uh, really don’t have an interest in women. Not anymore.”

That was not exactly or even mostly true, but it would do for now. “I’m just emotionally unavailable, Ninon.”

“So Jean said. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t apologise. I’m flattered as hell. You need better than an impotent, sterile wreck with an abbreviated lifespan.”

She winced, then touched his cheek. “Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t. But I won't make a fool of myself and embarrass you by pushing.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re a good friend, and always welcome. You know, there’s an unmarried man here who is brave, intelligent, handsome, and I suspect, more than a little lonely. More than me, I know for a fact. I also know that he admires you very much.”

She frowned. “Not one of your brothers?”

“More like...a father.”

“Jean?” she said with a laugh. “But he’s—”

“A man with hidden depths. And before you say he’s too old, he’s only fifty. You and I aren’t exactly children anymore.”

“You’re serious.”

Athos shrugged. “If I had a sister your age, I’d encourage her to get to know him even more shamelessly than I’m doing with you.”

“Hmmm.”

“If you think I’m making fun of you, I assure you, I would never be that cruel to either of you. I literally owe Jean my life, and to you, I owe almost as much.”

“Then I’ll take the advice in the spirit you’re giving it. Thank you, Athos.”

“Thank you for being so understanding.”

Ninon walked out, and a few seconds later, d’Artagnan slipped in, kissed Athos’s cheek, and began to stack the dishwasher, working seamlessly with him as he always did. “You had a word?”

“Treville did.”

“We owe him one.”

“Many more than that.”

“Yeah.” They finished quickly. There was no need to do more as they would eat lunch and supper at his parents’ house, at their insistence. The brothers would return here tonight though.

D’Artagnan caught Athos’s wrist as he was about to rejoin their guests. “Impotent, sterile wreck with an abbreviated lifespan?”

Athos didn’t chide him for listening as d’Artagnan could have heard easily without trying. “It’s true.”

D’Artagnan pulled him close and put his arms around Athos’s waist. “You are so very much more than that,” he murmured with his face against Athos’s cheek.

“I try to be. That’s all I can do.”

*******************

They attended midnight Mass with his parents, and at Réveillon at their house. Athos and his brothers went for a run the next day to work off the food, staying strictly within the parameters Dr Lemay had set down for them two years before. On their return and after they had showered and changed, Treville joined them at The Garrison, because he wanted to talk to them.

“Have you given any more thought to forming a security agency once you formally leave the army?”

Aramis looked at the other three before answered. “We have, and we’ve decided against it. In the army, we served the country. In a private company, we'd serve only those who can afford it. And none of us are desperately fond of the kind of people who could, even with the obvious exceptions of the general and Doctor de la Fère.”

Treville didn’t seem surprised or heart-broken. “Then that’s that. But what are you going to do?”

“Me and d’Artagnan was thinking of the police," Porthos said, "but I’m too old, and he doesn’t want to be on his own for the training. So we’re gonna volunteer as fire fighters. We don’t need the money.”

“You’d be good for that,” Treville said, before looking at Athos.

“I’m staying here just as we discussed, running the farm, making a home. But we’re making space for your people too, when you’re ready.”

“Aramis?”

Aramis cleared his throat. “Working with kids, if I can. Volunteer soccer coach, perhaps. I’ve already contacted the local school and they’re keen. And there’s plenty to do here.”

“You’re all trained fighters, though. Won’t you find that boring?”

D’Artagnan scowled. “We were trained to protect those weaker than us. Instead, the military let Richelieu use us for his own power games. None of us trust it won’t happen again. I don’t need to fight to protect those in need.”

“And our physical abilities will find an outlet in different ways,” Athos said. “What about you, sir? Will you stay on?”

“For now. I want to wait until Lemay has ensured every one of the enhanced soldiers has been treated and can look forward to as good a life as it’s possible to give them. Then I'll retire.”

“Come here,” Porthos said. The others nodded.

“I might do just that,” Treville said, smiling at them.

“In the meantime, Chayse needs some exercise, as does Roger,” Athos said. “Care to join me for a ride, sir?”

“That would be lovely,” Treville said.

Later, as they took the horses along a muddy path around the edge of the farm, Treville asked him if he was serious. “You surely don’t want some cranky ex-officer in your home.”

“My father is welcome anytime as you know,” Athos said with a straight face. Treville snorted. “You’re part of our family, Jean. We want you here, if you wish to come.”

“Then I’ll give it serious consideration. It’s not like I have any better offers. I take it Ninon spoke to you.”

“Yes. Thank you for talking to her. Now will you stop being such a coward and ask her to dinner?”

“She’s young enough—”

“To be your sister, not your daughter. Thirty-eight and divorced is not a child.”

“Hmmm.” There was a faint smile on the colonel’s lips which gave Athos some hope the man might be sensible about this. “Have you really given up on romance?”

“As I told her, I’m emotionally unavailable. I didn't tell her it's because I am emotionally satisfied as it is.”

Treville shook his head. “You boys are an enigma to me.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one we confuse. We are what we are.”

“Musk ox.”

“Muske _teers_ , please.”

“Of course,” Treville agreed with a quirk of his eyebrow. “How long before I can send you someone?"

"We have room for two immediately, if we four share two rooms as we usually do. The separate cabins won't be ready until summer. Then we could take up to ten."

“No, I'd never send that many. Two, three at the most. Can you manage on your own if the others are off doing their thing?"

"I can only offer them occupation and peace. Psychological treatment will have to be organised."

"It will be. I have in mind those too damaged and dangerous to let out in the general population, who have no safe place to go. You provide safety, I'll organise the medical side of it."

"Then I'm ready when you are."

"I want to be sure you're all healthy, Athos. No point in sending you highly trained killers if you're battling another immune system breakdown."

"Lemay seems happy. Talk to him. He'll know better than I do."

Treville nodded. "Richelieu wanted to throw you away. This is a wonderful thing you're doing, Athos."

"Let's see how it works first.”


	2. Sylvie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos experiences some revelations about his lost sexual capacity, and helps a wounded warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clairmont has suffered a life changing injury. For the nature of it, please see the end notes

Treville’s first wounded hero arrived a week after New Year. His name was Pascal Clairmont, a young, highly decorated lieutenant in the 8th Marine Infantry Parachute Regiment, and the sole survivor of a plane crash in Mali on a mission that had gone terribly wrong. He had suffered internal injuries and had come close to losing a foot, wounds which would invalid him out of the service in the long term, but it was his PTSD and survivor guilt that was doing him the most harm right now.

Treville brought him down to the Garrison on Saturday, and d’Artagnan, the one closest to Pascal’s age, helped him out of the car. “Welcome, lieutenant,” Athos said. “This is your home for however long you wish to stay.”

The lad was blond, tall, and wide-shouldered, but he stood as if he thought he should be much smaller than he was. “Thank you, monsieur.”

“None of that,” D’Artagnan said. “He’s Athos, I’m d’Artagnan. Please, let me show you to your room.”

Treville hung back to speak to Athos. “He needs to go into Paris twice a week to see the psychologist, and not on his own. There will be other medical appointments, of course. I’ve emailed you the details. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. Does he know what to expect here?”

“Not really. Keep him occupied, keep him company. He’s shown suicidal urges, has had some terrifying flashbacks, and his memory of the mission is only coming back to him in bits.”

“And physically?”

“He needs to have that foot amputated, but can’t face it right now, so he’ll need help with that. Is your mother ready for this?”

“Ready and eager. Aramis will also keep an eye on it. Will you stay for lunch?”

“Ah, no. Best I let him settle in immediately. But I’ll visit next weekend, all being well.”

“I hope it will be.”

Treville smiled, then climbed back into his car. “Good luck,” he said, then closed the window before driving off.

Porthos and Aramis were in the stables, mucking out, so Athos and d’Artagnan were the only ones in the house to keep Pascal company. Athos found the other two in the kitchen, Pascal at the table while d’Artagnan was starting meal preparation. Pascal shot to his feet when Athos walked in, wincing in pain from the movement.

“Sit down, lad, and mind your foot. We stand on no formality whatsoever here, although if you meet my father, that’ll be different.”

Pascal sat. “Yes, sir. I mean, Athos. Is that General de la Fère?”

“Yes, but his junior officer munching days are over.” D’Artagnan, still facing the sink, let out a chuckle. “You’ll find it’s pretty quiet here right now. The garden can’t be worked yet, and the vines are asleep. But the horses need mucking out and exercise every day, the chickens need their eggs collected, the goats need looking after, and so on. There’s cooking, cleaning, laundry, all the normal things. So whichever chore you feel like making your own, just pick one.”

“I recommend the goats,” d’Artagnan said, turning to face them. “They’re good company.”

“I...don’t know a thing about farming.”

“Then d’Artagnan can be your personal trainer.” Over Pascal’s head, d’Artagnan smiled and nodded. “I’m the cook most of the time, so if you want to pitch in with that, you can. There’s just one more thing I need to show you. Come with me.”

He led Pascal through the pantry and showed him a door. “Aramis insisted on this. It’s a safe room, or panic room. Once you’re in there and the door is locked, the only way it can be opened from outside is with a code. It’s bombproof, fireproof, bulletproof. If you’re in there, you have food and water for three days, a cot, a secure water supply and a chemical toilet.”

“Why would you build something like this in your own home?”

“Because you’re not the only one suffering from hyper-vigilance. Sometimes the only way to feel safe is to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing and no one can get to you. And it gets used, trust me on that.”

“You?”

“A couple of times. I’ll send you the code on your phone. It’ll be changed when you leave. If you’re in that room, no one will come in until you hit the button in there to release the door, or it’s been three days and you haven’t left, or the movement sensors haven’t detected anything for fifteen hours. Understand?”

Pascal nodded, and Athos thought he saw relief in those clear grey eyes. “Yes.”

“If you’re not in this room, and we see you in a flashback, or you appear to need help, we’ll approach carefully and offer assistance. So you coming down here is a way of telling us, ‘I can’t deal, but I can’t cope with people either’. You can wander off on your own if you want, just let us know. I’m talking about when you are caught unawares.”

“How long have you been doing this, Athos?”

“You’re our first. But we’re all warriors, I come from a long line of them, and we’re all fucked up in our own special ways. So,” he said with a smile, “welcome to the zoo. You’re not a freak around here.”

“I’m a mangled freak,” Pascal muttered. “They want to take my foot.”

“Well, I don’t. I have no use for one. Carry your phone at all times though. If you’re out in the fields and get stuck, we’ll be able to find you. Okay?”

“Yes, sir. Athos.”

“You’ll be all right. Now, let’s help d’Artagnan ruin pasta.”

“I can hear you, you realise,” d’Artagnan sang out.

“Ah yes. We all have extremely good hearing, sight, and smell. But we’re also good at keeping secrets, aren’t we, Charles?” he added as they walked into the kitchen.

“Yeah. I swore I’d never tell anyone about you, the Pekingese and the drag queen, and I never will.”

Pascal laughed. Athos rolled his eyes. “Behave,” he said to his brother. “And move. I can do this now.”

Athos and his brothers had carefully arranged things that Pascal would never be left alone, even if his companion was just through a doorway in another room. And they kept shifts at night, one always listening for the slightest sound of distress, the motion sensors telling them if there was movement in the house at night. Athos took the second shift, from midnight to three, since his insomnia often meant he was awake anyway. That meant he was the one who found Pascal in the living room or the kitchen on his first three nights in the house, and who made him warm milk with honey as well as for himself.

The first night, Pascal was hostile at the attention. “You don’t need to babysit me.”

“Oh. And here I was, hoping for company. D’Artagnan sleeps like a baby once he’s out.”

“You were awake?”

“I see why you were promoted so fast.”

Pascal flushed. “Sorry.” The microwave pinged and Athos put the mug of milk in front of him. “They gave me pills to help me sleep, but I’m afraid I’ll come to depend on them.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I take them if I’m overtired, or travelling, or I’m alone—which doesn’t happen that often these days.”

“Uh, the colonel explained about you four. About needing to be together.”

“Good, then I don’t have to.” Athos sipped his milk, and waited.

“Sleep is the enemy. Every night, I wait for my brain to attack. The only way to defeat it is to force myself awake.”

“Nightmares?”

“Yes. Do you have a solution?”

“No.” The lad’s shoulders sagged. “But I do find talking about them, exposing the nonsense your brain is making out of the rubbish it’s clearing out from the day, does help reduce the drag on your emotions.”

“Over and over,” Pascal whispered. “I see my men, my captain, going down under fire, and there’s nothing I can do. I’m literally paralysed. Over and over.”

“Is that what happened?”

“No. They died in the crash.”

“Then tell yourself that. Remind yourself the dream is a lie. Tell me, tell anyone, what really happened. It’ll help.”

Pascal lifted his head. “But they still all died, and I didn’t.”

“Only by pure chance. The enemy did its best to kill you too, and you dying wouldn’t have save them because they were already dead.” It was blunt, but it was honest. Athos didn’t think fudging the facts helped anyone.

“I could have—”

“No, you couldn’t. _They were already dead_. You’re a brave, exceptional soldier, but you don’t have the power of resurrection. None of us do. You couldn’t save them, Pascal.”

Pascal hung his head and hid the tears Athos didn’t need to be a mind reader to know were falling. Athos waited, drank his milk, warmed some more after a few minutes and put it in front of Pascal. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Pascal, look at me.”

He sniffed, and wiped his nose with his arm, and did the same with his eyes before he obeyed. “What?”

“Milk’s getting cold.”

“I don’t really—”

“Try it. It helps. Physical contact helps too.” Athos put out his hand. Pascal put his own in Athos’s, and Athos clasped it gently. “Drink.”

He held onto Pascal’s hand while the lad drank the warm milk. If it had been one of his brothers in this state, he would have hugged them with no difficulty. But one would have to be a damn fool to hug a highly trained soldier prone to flashbacks without giving them lots of room and lots of warning.

When the mug was empty, Athos still held his hand. “Where are you now?”

“Here. In this kitchen.”

“Can you feel my hand? See my face?” Pascal nodded. “Do you feel like someone’s watching?” He shook his head. “Good. That’s how you beat the nightmares back. Put yourself here and now. Taste, touch, smell. Talk to someone, remind yourself of the reality. How did they die?” Pascal jerked. “No, tell me. Were you paralysed?”

“No.”

“Did you see them die from gunfire?”

“No.”

“No,” Athos repeated. “And you are here, safe, with me, in this kitchen, and this is my hand.” He increased his grip. “Charles?”

D’Artagnan, who’d been hanging around behind the door for at least a minute, walked in. “Hey, Pascal.”

The lad jerked up straight and glared at Athos. “How did you know?”

“Hearing, remember” Athos said. “D’Artagnan can sit up with you and talk. Or he can sit next to your bed, or lie next to you. Or you can sleep down here on the sofa while he watches over you.”

“I don’t need—”

“Pascal,” d’Artagnan said. “It’ll help. Because I’m a reminder of where you are, and where you are not.”

“But you’ll be exhausted.”

“Nope,” d’Artagnan said cheerfully. “Come into the living room. The sofa is comfortable and we have these amazing recliners. You’ll be warm and safe and we’ll all get a decent night’s sleep.”

Athos let Pascal’s hand go. “He really does know what he’s talking about.”

“Okay.”

D’Artagnan kissed Athos’s cheek. “Go back to bed. I’ve got this.”

Athos stood and squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you.” He smiled at Pascal and headed upstairs to Porthos’s room, where Aramis was entwined around him. Athos stripped and  crawled under the covers next to Porthos. Even still sound asleep, his friend managed to put an arm around him and pull him close, and Athos was out in seconds.

*******************

By Tuesday, Pascal had mostly stopped being jittery and apologetic around them, and tried to convince Athos that he didn’t need company on the trip into Paris. “Sorry, Treville will murder me if I let you travel alone,” Athos said. “Besides, I have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Books,” d’Artagnan answered with a long-suffering sigh. “Now he has a house, his inner book hoarder has sprung free. I tell him you can find everything you need on the internet, but does he listen?”

“It’s the difference between reading about sex and having someone actually put their mouth on your cock,” Athos retorted, making Aramis snort tea all over himself. Porthos grinned and made no attempt to help him clean up. “But he’s right. I have books to buy. I plan a lovely few hours away from you heathens enjoying the smell of real books.”

“Rotting paper and cat piss is what he means by that,” d’Artagnan said, smirking at Athos over Pascal’s head.

“I should make you eat one.”

“You could certainly try, old man.”

“Porthos, please?” Athos said in a practiced world-weary tone

Porthos swatted d’Artagnan’s arse right on cue, making Pascal grin. “Behave.”

“You’re spending too much time around the horses,” d’Artagnan grumbled, rubbing his backside.

“Gentlemen,” Athos said. “Pascal, fifteen minutes and then we go.”

“Yes, sir. Athos.”

Of course he had to go with Pascal whatever the lad said. Although he had begun to relax somewhat at the farm, on the train he was tightly wound and hyper-vigilant as a soldier watching for IEDs and a roadside attack. Which, in a way, he was. Athos kept his hand on Pascal’s shoulder  and his manner relaxed as he kept the lad’s attention on him and not on the passengers or a possible threat. It worked as well as he hoped, but it was with distinct relief that he handed his charge over to a nurse at the clinic, and told him he would be back later to collect him for lunch before they returned to the farm.

He walked to the sixth arrondissement and began the delightful task of browsing the different bookstores. He had no written list, just a vast appetite for books on many subjects for himself, and even for his brothers, however much fun they made of him. Books on horses, books on gardens, books on goats, books on building, books of poetry, art, and recipes, books to entertain, to inform, and to make one think.

Despite d’Artagnan’s mockery, Athos was perfectly happy to consume books digitally, but he wanted a library that was as much a safe room for him, as the panic room was for Aramis. And that meant books in physical form, bookcases, a sofa or three, good, even light through a large window, art on the walls, and thick rugs on the floor. So far he had a crate of books, and one sofa. He wanted to enjoy collecting the rest.

It had been years since he had walked these streets, so he discovered he was no longer as familiar as he thought he was. Looking for a shop he had once favoured, he found it had become a gadget shop. He stared at the plate glass windows at the goods in which he had zero interest, disappointed by this aesthetic betrayal. He glanced to his left, and saw a shop with a sign declaring it to be “Boden et Fille”. A book symbol on the door made him want to investigate further, so he went inside, and climbed the narrow stairs.

He found himself in Nirvana, or near enough for his needs. Books, and nothing but books, all carefully curated and shelved. He flung himself with delight at the history shelves, and was buried in a lovely edition of Herodotus, when he heard a polite, “Welcome, _monsieur_. Is there something in particular you’re looking for?”

He returned, reluctantly, to the real world, and found a pair of intelligent brown eyes looking at him out of a striking brown face. “No, _madame_. I’d like to browse for a while, if I may.”

“Of course you can. Take your time. We have chairs and tables. Make yourself at home. I’m Sylvie Boden.” She held out her hand.

Athos took it. “The ‘fille’?”

“That’s me.”

“Glad to meet you. I’m Athos de la Fère.”

“Any relation to Olivier de la Fère?”

“His son.”

She grinned. “Oh, we’ve sold him a number of books. My father and he have known each other for years. Did he send you?”

“No, pure chance.”

“Well then, welcome twice over, _monsieur_. I was just about to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“I’ll be back soon. Please, don’t let me interrupt.”

He needed no more encouragement to dive back into Herodotus.

By the time the young woman returned, Athos had five books selected and was wondering about a sixth. It was on horse breeds, and he worried that it was a bit out of date. But the illustrations were so well done, and the captions so amusing, he decided he would get it. D’Artagnan could turn his nose up at it or not as the case may be.

He put the books down on the table next to the one Sylvie set her tray on. “Oh, you’re ready to go?”

“Not in the least,” he said, smiling. “I have but begun.”

“A man after my own heart. Milk?”

The tea was served in mismatched mugs, and stronger than he was used to, but it was good, nonetheless, and Sylvie’s company was worth swallowing a much worse beverage for. “Is your father around?” he asked.

“Off buying more books, and then he has a meeting. I’m it for today, I’m sorry.” Her bright eyes over her cup didn’t look apologetic. “You’re not in Paris, are you?”

“Not for a long time. I live on a farm next to my parents now, just north of the city.”

“Alone, or with your wife?”

“Neither,” he said dryly. “With three former military comrades. Friends.”

“Sounds pleasant. Homey, even.”

“It is. It’s what I wanted from even when I was small.”

“You weren’t happy in your parents’ home?”

He debated whether to answer, as this was taking a very personal turn. “I was, but my father, the general, made it clear it was _his_. _Theirs_. When I married, I was still in the army, and one cannot easily own a home while in the service. There’s too many transfers. It wasn’t until I owned the farm, and my brothers settled in with me, that I realised that this was what I had needed. Home.”

“A hearth, in fact.”

“Yes.” She nodded, clearly understanding, and his heart swelled a little to find a soul who could understand his incomplete description so well. “You and your father live together?”

“Oh yes. Up there,” she said, pointing at the ceiling. “My mother died a very long time ago. It’s been the two of us since then.”

He detected a little melancholy. “And what of your dream? What did you want from childhood?”

She shrugged. “To travel. To change the world. To be loved.”

“And are you?”

“My father loves me. I've travelled a bit, and I suppose books change the world, so...I suppose I should be content.” She refilled his mug. “Tell me about your brothers. How did you meet?”

The enhancement programme was strictly classified, so he had to fudge the details a little, but was able to explain things well enough that she understood the origins of their bond. “So you are in an sexless polyamorous relationship with them?”

Athos smiled. “I suppose we are. It’s a little hard for outsiders to understand.”

“It sounds very warm and cherishing,” she said with a sigh.

“It is. Ah, but I’ve wasted enough of your day, _madame_ , so I should pay and let you get on.”

She rose and collected his books to take over to her desk. “You have wasted nothing, _monsieur_ , and please, call me Sylvie. Do you expect to be in Paris again soon?”

“I do. I am taking a colleague to twice weekly medical sessions for the foreseeable future.”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Then I hope you’ll return and take another mug of tea with me. That’s seventy-five euros, please.”

He handed over his credit card. “I thought it would come to more.”

“First time customer discount,” she said cheerfully. “And another one for making my day a little more interesting.”

He bowed with a flourish. “I am at your service.”

She giggled, then picked up a business card from the holder and wrote a number on the back. “Let me know when you’re coming back, and what books you have a particular interest in. I’ll put aside anything new that you might enjoy.”

“There’s no need—”

She put her finger on his lips. “It would be a pleasure.”

The surprisingly intimate gesture and the huskiness of her voice sent a thrill down his spine, something he hadn’t experienced for years. “I, uh, would be grateful for that then. Good day, Sylvie.”

Out on the street, he found his face flushed, his heart beating fast. At first, he thought he might be having some kind of physical attack, but then realised that it was simply excitement. Excitement at meeting a beautiful woman who had fascinated him as Ninon should have, but did not.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with this emotion.

He checked his watch, then swore. He would have to pull his finger out to meet Pascal on time. Fortunately when he arrived, the lad was still with the therapists, so no harm was done.

When Pascal emerged, he was tired and not hungry, so Athos decided to delay a meal until they returned home. Pascal didn’t speak on the journey, but seemed less on edge—whether that was because of the therapy or his weariness, Athos didn’t know.

As they pulled up in the garage at the Garrison, he said, “I suppose you know by now that you may have worse dreams tonight. D’Artagnan has offered to sleep downstairs if you want to take the sofa.”

“Thanks. I think I will.” Pascal made no effort to get out of the car. “They were talking about my foot again. Saying that I’d be so much better without it, and that modern prostheses are so good, I’d hardly miss it.”

“I’ve heard that myself,” Athos said carefully.

“But once it’s gone, that’s it. I’m out. No more flying or parachuting. I’ll be a failure.”

Very slowly, Athos reached for Pascal’s shoulder and rested his hand on it. “Are we failures then? The four of us?”

“No, of course not! But you’re not paratroopers.”

“You will always be a paratrooper. You earned that red beret. No one and no thing can take that away. They could remove all your limbs, and you could be paralysed from the neck down, and you would still be worthy of that title. All careers end, Pascal. It’s simply the next challenge.”

Pascal said nothing, staring through the windscreen. Athos sighed. “I think it’s time you met my father.”

But that could wait until tomorrow. For now, Athos took the lad inside and fed him, then left him in Aramis’s kind company while Athos put his new books in the proto-library and went looking for d’Artagnan. He found him in the stables, petting Roger and staring at Chayse. “Imagining your new baby?”

D’Artagnan turned and smiled, then pulled Athos in a hug and kissed him. “How was Paris?”

“Damp. Cold. Wonderful. I bought you a book.”

“Thank you. Lots of pictures, I hope. You know I can’t read.”

“In fact there are.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. “I met a woman.”

“Yeah?”

“At the bookshop. We had a lovely chat.”

D’Artagnan pulled back to look at him. “You fancied her.”

“Yes. It’s the first time since...well, before Anne.”

“Ask her out then.”

Athos walked off, sighing in frustration. “And then what? I have nothing to offer her.”

“Athos, you have you. It’s good enough—more than good enough—for me.”

“But, Charles, we’re...it’s not romance.”

“No, but it’s love, and it’s powerful, and I need it. I need you. How do you know she’s not the same? The worst thing that could happen is that she’ll say she’s not.”

Athos shook his head. “The worst thing that could happen is that she falls in love with me and then I have to let her down, like Ninon.”

“Okay. Then give up. Never go back, never find out what she wants, or if she likes you that way. Never show anyone else your heart, because you’re responsible for how everyone else feels, and you can’t take that risk.”

They stared at each other. “I thought you might be jealous,” Athos murmured.

“Nope.”

“I do love you, Charles. My biggest regret is that I can’t show you how much I do in the way I want.”

“Same goes for me. But sex is in the brain, and you’re the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

Athos laughed and pulled him close again. “Thank you. Um, Pascal is depressed. I thought you might talk to him. I think you know better than most of us what he’s going through.”

“Sure. Do you think we can really make a difference to him?”

“It’s only been a few days. But he’s still here. That counts for something.”

D’Artagnan kissed him, then pulled away. “I’ll go find him.”

Athos stayed behind, and spent a few minutes petting the two horses and talking to them. Strange that Roger could do what he would never be able to do now—father a child. Children had never been an compulsion for Athos, but he’d assumed he would have them. Anne had wanted them, although she hadn’t been able to become pregnant in their all too short marriage. Maybe Athos had never been fertile. It was more than possible.

Sylvie.... Just to think of her made him tingle. He could so easily imagine cupping her wide, smiling face and kissing her, or burying his hands in her thick curls. But did that amount to sexual desire? It had been so long since he’d felt any, long before the enhancements. His libido had died when Anne had. Lemay swore it was all physical, and God knew, Athos had been through enough therapy to cure him if it were not.

But sexual desire or not, his cock hadn’t even twitched. With Anne, she only had to look at him and he became hard. Their passion had been irresistible, powerful. Now he could only remember that it existed, but not how it felt. Not viscerally.

He should do what D’Artagnan had mockingly described. Just stick to his brothers and be content. He _was_ content. He was just surprised to find he could be surprised. That was all.

It was too cold to stay out here much longer, so he said good night to the horses, and went back into his house. “He’s having a nap,” Aramis reported. “D’Artagnan is with him in the living room.”

“Good. I bought a book on medieval gardens you might like to look at.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“It’s in the library.”

“Thank you. I’ll find it.” Aramis brushed his shoulder as he left the kitchen, silently reconnecting. They all did this after an absence of anything more than an hour. They all needed it, Athos more than any of them, he thought.

*******************

Athos didn’t make it back to Paris for two weeks, not entirely by design. His brothers also wanted to explore their favourite city, and it was good for Pascal to have the variety. Athos’s parents visited several times to see the lad, and while Athos didn’t ask, he sensed that it had helped their wounded warrior.

He tried not to think too much about Sylvie, or to regret what he could not change. He was comfortable now with the changes in his body and didn’t want to become unsatisfied, or to waste what might be only a few years left in his lifespan on bemoaning his lack of libido.

But she had been _so_ lovely.

His father intervened unknowingly, by giving Athos an order to collect next time he was at Boden et Fille. He chuckled as he gave Athos the invoice. “Old man Boden is a radical leftist and socialist to his core, but he knows his books and his contacts are quite extensive.”

“Have you met him?” Athos asked.

“Oh yes, though we usually communicate by email or phone these days. He’s a real firebrand.”

“And his daughter?”

“She was only a teenager when I last saw her. Pretty girl. Very sure of herself. Probably be President of France one day.”

Athos hadn’t detected that particularly, but he’d seen nothing to contradict it. Then again, they’d not talked about politics at all. “She’s grown into a beautiful woman.”

“Glad to hear it. I thought you didn’t notice such things any more. You weren’t interested in Ninon.”

“ _Papa_.”

His father lifted an eyebrow. “Well, you weren’t.”

“I noticed she’s a beautiful woman too. I just...don’t feel moved to more than friendship with her.”

“Hmmm. Probably just as well. Business and pleasure don’t mix well, and she’s much more use to us as a family lawyer than as a daughter-in-law.”

“ _Papa_!”

“Oh, calm down, son. When did you become so precious?”

“I’m not. I’m just surprised you think of such things.”

“I think many things. I only share them with people who keep their mouths shut.”

Which was a compliment to be sure, but Athos still had troubling adjusting to his father’s new outlook on life after his retirement—and what had happened to his two sons. It had changed them all, of course.

He texted Sylvie from the clinic after he dropped Pascal off to say he was on his way to the shop. She greeted him with a hug. “How lovely to see you again, Athos! When your father said you were coming to pick up his order, I was glad because I thought I might have scared you off or something.”

He looked around at the piles of boxes and books. “Never. But you’re busy.”

“Just orders to go in the post. Papa! General de la Fère’s son is here!”

From a back room Athos hadn’t realised existed, an elderly gentleman came out, stood still, and fixed Athos with a steely gaze. “Ah, Olivier’s son. How is the old fascist?”

Sylvie was horrified. “Papa!”

Athos smiled. “In good health, monsieur, and speaks as kindly of you as you do of him.”

“Good, good,” Boden replied, smirking. “My daughter tells me you’ve resigned from the murder business. Glad to hear it.”

“I’ve never murdered anyone in my life, monsieur. Though I’ve often wanted to.”

“Astonishing. You’re the only soldier I’ve ever met who can claim no civilian deaths on his watch.”

Athos stiffened. Sylvie took his arm and gave her father a dirty look. “Papa, don’t be horrible. Athos is here as a customer and a friend. You don’t have to insult him.”

Father and daughter glared at each other. It was Boden who backed down. “Eh, maybe I was a little rude. Anyway, Olivier’s order is ready, Sylvie. I’m going back to my work.”

He retreated to the backroom and shut the door again. “Sorry,” Sylvie said. “Let me make you some tea.”

“Allow me to give you these,” Athos said, holding up the box he’d brought with him. “Some petit-fours for later, as a thank you for your kindness last time.”

She looked into the box. “Oh you evil, evil man. How did you know I adored these? I can’t tell Papa, he’ll steal them. Thank you!” She kissed his cheek. Athos tried to remind himself he had known this woman for less than an hour. It felt like he’d known her since childhood.

She produced a packet of sweet biscuits to go with the tea, and demanded to know how his brothers were, how the wounded gentleman was, and what he’d been up to. Talking to her was so easy. It was like talking to Aramis

“And is Pascal getting better, do you think?”

“Hard to say. He’s relaxing around us, but his injuries are causing distress. He has no one else to help him.”

“I’m sure you are doing him good. I wish I could meet your friends. Your farm sounds lovely.”

“Not at the moment, it isn't. It’s all muddy and cold and shut down until spring. But soon the garden will wake up, and the goats will have their kids, and we’ll start work on the next phase of the house. You...uh.” He stopped short of inviting her, unsure if he was rushing things. “I did have a few books of my own I wanted to look out for.”

The change of subject didn’t appear to offend her. “Tell me, and we can look together.”

He gave her the list and for the next hour, they searched happily together, and what she didn’t have in stock, she could get. He put them on order. “What is your father working on?”

“Oh, another demonstration against the neo-Nazis on Sunday. He helps coordinate and plan for his group of socialist friends, and writes articles for an on-line site for the anti-fascist movement.”

“He doesn’t go to these demonstrations, does he? Those people are genuinely dangerous.”

She seemed surprised at his question. “We both do. And yes, they’re dangerous, but they’re more dangerous if they get into government. It’s important to resist and protest and point out their extremism at all times.”

Athos didn’t patronise her by warning her again, but he would worry nonetheless. Extremists of any stripe were deadly, as he knew to his cost.

But it was time to collect Pascal so he paid for his order, and picked up his father’s too. As he placed the books into his backpack, he asked, “Uh, if I was here for a whole day, I wonder if you might like to have lunch with me.”

She grinned. “I would _adore_ having lunch with you. Just give me a little warning, okay? So I can arrange it with Papa.”

“Of course. It was delightful to see you, and to meet him.”

She made a face. “He was terrible, but he really does hate the military. I’m always surprised he and your father can even bear to speak to each other.”

“My father has a lot of practice of handling people who hate him for what he used to do. He doesn’t take it personally.”

“He’s a good man, like his son. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“You will.” Hesitantly, he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Her delighted smile was worth the risk.

Pascal was once more subdued when Athos collected him, which seemed to him to be a step backwards. He waited until they were in the car at the train station to ask, “Did you receive bad news?”

“I decided to let them amputate. The pain is worse, I'll never regain function, and it’s throwing out my knee and hip, which will lead to problems in future. And I won’t be going back to active service regardless.”

“I’m sorry. But if it means you’re not in pain, that’s good, yes?”

“I guess. I’ll have better function. I can even run, if I want.” Since the lad could only walk with difficulty now, that would be a great improvement.

“And how long before you have a foot fitted?”

“Within three months for a temporary one, six to twelve months for a permanent one. I don’t have to stay with you all that time though.”

“You’re welcome as long as you want. That was the condition on which we offered to take you in.” Pascal nodded. “When will you have it done?”

“Next week. I’ll be in hospital a day or two.”

“One of us should be with you.”

“No need.” Athos only had to give him a look, and he folded. “Okay.”

He and his brothers gave Pascal a lot of love when he got back, and would do until the operation, and afterwards. Even though the decision made complete sense, he still mourned the impending loss of his foot as the symbol of how much else he had already lost. His life had changed irrevocably, and to a young, formerly fit, strong man, it was devastating. He couldn't see past it to a brighter future, not yet. But with Athos's father advising him, and the four inseparables looking out for him, he would, eventually.

There was no need for a second trip to Paris that week, but Athos made a tentative arrangement with Sylvie to take her to lunch on the day Pascal had his surgery. He would stay in Paris two nights, and bring him home on Thursday. D'Artagnan would join him Tuesday night at the hotel.

"Unless you find another companion," d'Artagnan had added cheekily as Athos discussed it with him in bed.

"Because you and Sylvie are so interchangeable."

"I'm just giving you space to explore what you want together."

"We're talking about a woman I barely know, and am having my first lunch with, while, I should point out, our comrade is having his foot chopped off. Do I look like a playboy, Charles?"

"No, of course not."

"The most I'm hoping for is to get through the meal without breaking down. I just want to be friends. It's unfair to hold out a hope of romance."

D'Artagnan held him tighter. "I want you to have a nice time. You deserve it."

"Pascal is the one we need to concentrate on. He's facing a life-changing operation, months of adjustment. My trivial social interactions are of no importance."

"Athos. This is the first woman you've socialised with since Anne died. The first woman since our bodies were wrecked. First since you...we...had death sentences passed on us. This _is_ important."

"Charles, do you think I need rehabilitation?"

D'Artagnan cupped Athos's head, and kissed him on the lips. "I think some problems are cured by amputation, and others need careful exercise to build up muscle."

"You want me to build up my love muscle."

Athos knew D'Artagnan very well. All he had to do was wait, and then enjoy the sound of helpless muffled giggles in the dark.

*******************

Elodie had an idea which might help Pascal, and on gaining his agreement, drove him and d’Artagnan to watch a gymkhana on Sunday afternoon where all the riders were disabled—many much more so than Pascal was or would be. That left Aramis, Porthos and Athos alone at the farm, so they rode over to Athos’s parents’ house—Aramis riding double with Athos—to borrow another horse, and take it for a hack around the area.

The trails were all mud, but at least it wasn’t raining. “You think you could teach Pascal to ride after the surgery?” Aramis asked Athos.

“Maybe. It could be something to try in the future.”

“We need a cat,” Porthos said. “Two.”

“And two dogs,” Aramis said.

“If they’re sterilised, have as many as you like,” Athos said. “I draw the line at being overrun with them.”

“Wait until Pascal is out of hospital,” Porthos said. “Let him pick a puppy. It’ll cheer him up.”

“Excellent idea. And he can train it. But I’ll have to work out he can do that on crutches.”

“I’ll leave it to you,” Athos said. “I’m your man for horses. Charles can handle the goat acquisitions.”

In a month’s time, building would restart. The ideas for additions had changed over the layoff, and Elodie had asked if she could trade her owed fees for down payment on an extra cabin in the block they were planning to build as a new wing to the main house. Athos could see absolutely no reason why not. She had grown up on a farm, and had already been of great help to them. She would be an extra hand when needed, and she wanted to have a baby. A child at the farm would go some way to assuaging the silent but ever-present sorrow over their loss of fertility.

And more company of people they genuinely liked would be good for them, and good for his parents. So the priority for Matthieu and his team would be to first put up two cabins, each with two bedrooms and office space, and then the extra cabins could be added as time and weather allowed. Pascal had managed quite well living in the main house. Athos couldn’t be sure though, that all their guests would be happy to do so. There had to be options for those who found company hard to handle.

They rode back to his parents’ place by three, and after the horses were stabled, his mother invited them in for tea. His parents had taken a keen interest in the house plans, and now they were talking about animals, his mother had a number of suggestions as which locals might have suitable pups and kittens to look at.

“Olivier, it’s about time we replaced Maude, don’t you think?” Their last cat, a Russian blue, had died in her sleep six months ago at the grand age of twenty.

“If you like, my dear. You know I’m not much for cats.”

 _Maman_ shook her head and winked at Athos. “Let me show you the photos I’ve taken of the cat hater with Maude asleep on his lap.”

Papa cleared his throat. “There was a report on the radio of violence at that demonstration in Paris. Boden and his daughter were going to that, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes, they were,” Athos said, a shiver of premonition running up his spine. “Anyone hurt?”

“Apparently. No figures or names. Bloody Nazis. I thought we’d fought a war to get rid of them, and here they are in Paris again.”

Athos discreetly sent a text to Sylvie asking if they were both safe, then paid attention to the conversation again, though he kept his hand on his phone.

Half an hour later, he had a reply. _Papa in ICU at Pitié-Salpêtrière._

“Fuck.”

“Athos, language.”

“Sorry, _maman_. _Papa_ , Boden’s in Pitié-Salpêtrière hospital. Intensive care.”

His father straightened up. “Dear God. Does she need assistance?”

“I’ll call her. Please excuse me.”

He went outside into the hall to call Sylvie. It went to messages but she rang back almost immediately. “Oh God, Athos. I don’t know what to do. He was punched by one of the fascists and went down, hit his head. They—” She swallowed. “They don’t think he’ll make it.”

“Shall I come up to see you?”

“I can’t ask—”

“But I can offer. I’ll be there in an hour. Do you need anything?”

“A miracle.”

Athos gritted his teeth. “Be strong.”

He went back into the sitting room. “ _Papa_ , could you drive me into Paris so I can catch the Métro direct? I can make my own way back, but Boden is not expected to make it, and Sylvie has no one else, I’m pretty sure.”

His father stood. “Of course. Claire, I’m going to stay with Athos until the situation is clear.”

“Of course, dear. Do you want me to come?”

“Two is enough, I suspect.” He bent and kissed her. “But thank you.”

“Aramis, you need to take the horses back soon. I don’t know when I’ll be home this evening. I’ll call when I know.”

“Just go, Athos. We’ll take care of things here.”

While his father drove, Athos booked them parking in a garage near the hospital until midnight. “You never told me how you met him,” Athos said as they entered the city limits and the traffic grew heavier.

“I was looking for a particular biography, and one of my officers recommended Boden’s shop. I went in and he gave me his full ‘soldiers are the tools of the oppressors’ speech. He got a bit of a shock when I didn’t storm off in high dudgeon but gave as good as I got. I ended up spending three hours there, arguing, talking politics and books, and then having supper with the two of them. That was twenty-five years ago at least. Sylvie was only two. Her mother had died a couple of months before that. We kept in touch, I dropped in from time to time, had meals with them when it suited us all.” He went silent for a bit before saying, “I shall be very sorry if he dies.”

“I warned her,” Athos said. “I said those bastards are dangerous.”

“You think she didn’t know? That he didn’t?” Athos shook his head. Of course they did. “I wonder what she’ll do if he does die. I don’t think the shop is a great money-maker, but he has his pension, of course.”

“I don’t know. I doubt she’s even thinking of that.”

He texted her while they were parking, and they went straight up to ICU when they arrived at the hospital. Sylvie met them outside the ward where a police officer was keeping a discreet distance. Her father could be seen through the windows, on a ventilator and attached to monitors. She shook Papa’s hand, and offered her to Athos, but he took her into a hug, having finally learned that formality was no substitute for comfort.

She was holding back tears by sheer willpower, it seemed to him. “They are sure he won’t wake up, that there is no proper brain function. The doctors are just waiting for me to allow them to turn off the machines.” Her chin wobbled but still, she would not weep.

“What do you want to do?” Athos asked.

“He always said he didn’t want to live attached to machines. I know what he wants. Will you...wait with me? While they, um...?”

“Of course.”

His father said, “Let’s all be there. Send him on his journey like the warrior he is.”

She looked up at _Papa_ with tears glistening on his cheeks. “He will be so honoured, general.”

They went into the ward. Sylvie took her father’s hand and put her cheek on it. “Athos and the general are here, _Papa_. They’ve come to say goodbye.”

Athos put his hand on the old man’s foot, covered by blankets. “It was an honour and pleasure to meet you, Hubert Boden.”

“We’ll keep up the fight against the fascists as you would have wished,” Papa said.

A doctor came in shortly after. Athos and his father stepped back so the two women could speak in privacy. “If it comes to this with me, Papa, don’t shirk your duty,” Athos whispered.

“I swear I will not. But I need the same promise from you.”

“I swear.”

His father put his hand on Athos’s shoulder. There was no need to say more.

Sylvie kissed her father’s forehead, and held his hand while the doctor and a nurse detached the leads, and turned off the ventilator. Boden breathed on his own for a few moments, then stopped. Sylvie bowed her head, as did the doctor, and time of death was pronounced.

Athos moved forward and put his hands on her shoulders. There was no hurry. Let her grieve, he thought.

It wasn’t long before she stood. “Thank you,” she said to the waiting medics, and turned away. “I need to let the police officer know.”

Athos and his father walked outside with her, and waited while she spoke to the officer. She came back to them. “The police will need an autopsy. They’ll released the body in a few days. Papa was adamant he wanted no funeral.” Only then did she let a few tears fall, though her expression beneath them was resolute, brave. “I should go home.”

“Come back with us,” Athos said, glancing at his father who nodded. “You can stay with me or with my parents. Just for a few days. You won’t want to open the shop straight away.”

“No. His friends in the resistance will want to...but I can’t deal with them yet. I can email them. Do you mind letting me come back?”

“I want you to,” Athos said, taking her hands. “We can get a taxi to your place, you can check there’s nothing that can go off in the fridge, and collect some clothes. We brought the car down.”

She tried to smile. “So practical. _Papa_ liked practical people.”

“He liked people who lived for their principles, my dear,” Athos’s father said. “You’re the practical one, I suspect.”

“True,” she said, before breaking down again. Athos held her until she could face them.

“Athos, I’ll wait with the car. Why don’t you go to Boden’s shop, do what you need and call me when you’re ready to be collected? I can call your mother and your friends while I’m waiting.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Athos said. “Sylvie? Is there anything you need to take with you?”

“No. It’s all with the police. Evidence.”

Athos kept his arm around her. “Then let’s go.”

*******************

An hour and a half later, his father dropped them off at the farm. “Sylvie, please do come over tomorrow if you wish, and if you’d be more comfortable at the house, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you, general. You’ve both been so kind to me.”

“Your father was a good, honourable man. I’d help you for his sake even if I didn’t know you at all. Good night.”

As Athos picked up her bag, he said, “He means he’s doing it for you, but—”

“No, I understand.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Let’s get inside. It’s freezing.”

The house was warm and all his brothers were home, as well as Pascal. Sylvie blinked at the throng, and looked ready to run, but Aramis came over and took her hands. “We’re all so sorry for your loss, Sylvie. I’m Aramis.” He introduced the others. “Welcome.”

“Would you like to go to your room, or have tea first?” Athos murmured.

She turned to him with a pleading look. “Tea? And it sounds horrible, but I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Aramis took over. “Then let’s feed you. D’Artagnan, take the lady’s bag to her room, please.”

D’Artagnan didn’t protest for a second at being used as a porter. While Aramis handled things, Athos moved over next to Pascal and asked quietly, “What did you think of the gymkhana?”

“It was interesting. Taught me a few things, like not moaning about losing one little foot.”

“You have another, after all,” Athos joked, and Pascal, to his amazement, grinned at his words.

“I do. There were two young girls, both with prosthetic feet, and you would never know to look at them at all.”

“If you feel like learning to ride after the operation, we have the horses.”

“I think I’d like that. Can I help?” he asked, nodding towards the table where Aramis had settled Sophie and Porthos was pouring her a mug of tea.

“In whatever way you wish. Her father was her only living relative. Just be kind.”

“I can do that.” He hobbled over to the table, and asked for tea if there was any going. All in all, Athos thought Pascal would be fine, eventually.

Sylvie ended up sleeping downstairs in a recliner chair, with Pascal watching her in a reverse of the usual routine. Although the brothers kept an ear out for both of them, Athos thought they would be safe for that night at least.

“And now what happens?” d’Artagnan asked as they went to bed.

“I don’t know. It’s a rotten situation for her. The police are involved, the business is very much her father’s enterprise, and she’s alone in the world, except for her father’s radical chums. I guess she has friends of her own, but she hasn’t mentioned them.”

“She has you.”

“She has us,” Athos corrected. “I plan to help her as much as I can. Do you mind that?”

“Not at all,” d’Artagnan said, kissing his cheek, then his shoulder. “She’s lovely, like you said. Does she have any ambitions?”

“She did once. But she’s been his carer for a long time. Now I suppose she has to make her own dreams again. Like we did.”

“This place is good for dreams.”

“I hope so,” Athos said. He desperately needed to kiss and snuggle with d’Artagnan because nothing made him feel more alive than listening to d’Artagnan’s heartbeat in the dark.

*******************

Without needing to discuss it, the brothers treated Sylvie as they did Pascal—one of them was always near, but they let her choose whether she wanted to talk or not. Naturally she mostly sought out Athos since she knew him, but Aramis had quickly gained her confidence, and Athos overheard her talking easily to d’Artagnan and Porthos at different times. She retreated to the library for some of the day at Athos’s invitation when she wanted to be left alone, but she was the one to invite him to sit with her and drink hot chocolate while it tipped down rain outside.

“When are you going to finish this?” she asked. For the moment, an empty crate was Athos’s coffee table, as they sat on the sofa together.

“When I have enough books to fill a bookcase, I suppose.”

“Build the bookcase, the books will come. So Papa—” She turned away, her voice choking.

“One of his sayings?” She nodded, her eyes full of tears. “Have you thought what you’ll do?”

“Sell the stock, sell the lease. I have no vocation for book-selling. Papa never intended me to keep it after he died. I thought he would...live longer.”

Athos took her hand. “What happened?”

She wiped her noses with her arm. “I didn’t see it. I was a little way off, separated by two police officers. They’d started to move in on the neo-Nazis. I heard Papa yelling at one of them, and then he went quiet. I didn’t realise he’d been struck until Pierre started shouting, calling for me, calling for help. I couldn’t get to him at first because the police rushed in, dragged the Nazis away, and went to help Papa. Pierre said one of them had punched him and he went down hard to the ground. Fractured his skull.”

“Murdered.”

“Yes, I think so.” She covered her face. “He was seventy-five. Old for a father. He was always in a hurry for me to grow up, because small children bored him. But he never seemed to get any older because he always looked old. I thought he’d live to be a hundred.”

“It’s never easy. Did you speak to d’Artagnan?”

She nodded. “Yes. He was very sweet. I can see why you love them all so much.”

He stroked his thumb over her hand. “The finest men I’ve ever known. After you sell, what will you do?”

“I literally have no idea. Something to continue his antifascist work. Politics in some form, I suppose. I have a degree in economics. I can’t decide, Athos. I can’t...think.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “There’s no rush. You can stay here as often and as long as you want before you strike out.”

“You barely know me.”

“My father knew your father. That’s enough. And I like what I do know of you. What more do I need to know, to help you?”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re such a good man.”

Athos knew that wasn’t true, but to argue would look like an attempt to solicit more compliments. “Drink your chocolate before it goes cold.”

Someone knocked at the library door. “Come in,” Athos called.

“Sorry to interrupt,” d’Artagnan said. “But one of the does is about to kid. I thought Sylvie might like to see.”

“Want to see a baby goat get made?” Athos asked her.

She blinked the tears away. “I’d love to.”

The old barn had been too much of a mess and bigger than they needed to be worth renovating, so it had been knocked down to make room for the new accommodation and the materials were being recycled into the rest of the buildings. Two modern prefab sheds with proper lighting and heating acted as their stables and animal pens, where the chickens and goats could all shelter in bad weather. Athos lent Sylvie gumboots to go across the yard to where the pregnant does were penned up.

“Will you have to help her give birth?” she asked.

“Hope not,” d’Artagnan said cheerfully. “But I know what to do if she needs help. Look, those two were born two days ago.”

He showed her the new Nubian pygmy twin kids and let her hold one, to Sylvie’s wide-eyed delight. She asked him how long he’d been raising goats, which was all d’Artagnan needed to start talking about one of his favourite subjects. While he was expounding, Aramis, Porthos and Pascal found their way to the shed too, and ten minutes later, they were all witness to the labouring doe producing two healthy female kids.

“Yuck,” Pascal said. Aramis and Porthos agreed, going by their expressions.

“Men,” Sylvie said, grinning at them, then looking at Athos.

“You want goat cheese, you need baby goats,” d’Artagnan said. “If you think this is messy, be thankful we don’t have cows.”

“It’s enough to turn a man vegan,” Aramis said. D’Artagnan rolled his eyes. Aramis could never give up cheese.

“I think it’s beautiful,” Sylvie said. “New life.” Athos was rather grateful the new kids weren’t male, or he’d have had to explain the fact they would be turned into goat meat in short order.

With the new mothers all judged to be in good health and nursing well, d’Artagnan declared that it was time for tea, and some of the cake Athos had made the day before. The kitchen was warm and cosy, the cake and tea welcome after the time outside, and Athos, standing by the sink with a mug in his hands, couldn’t help but think how much it looked just like a family coming together. Had Sylvie and Pascal moved into their hearts that quickly, or was he deluding himself? He only had the army to judge it by. His parents, Thomas, hadn’t gone in for casual meals, sitting around just chatting. In the military, chats in the mess were normal, as was sitting around together off-duty, talking, drinking, relaxing together.

After the others decamped to the living room, and Athos was starting preparations for that evening’s meal, d’Artagnan came in and kissed his ear. “Why were you looking all frowny?”

“Nothing. Just thinking. What are we building here? Rehab for warriors, or a home for strays?”

“It can’t be both?”

“We’ll run out of room.”

“Then we add more. Are you worried about money?”

Athos snorted. “Not hardly.” The compensation deal Ninon had wrung out of the government had been as decent as guilt and fear of exposure to the media could build. None of them would need to work again, even if they lived to a normal old age.

“Then so long as we stick to modular construction and prefab, we can just add more. You’re going to ask Sylvie to stay, aren’t you?”

Athos shrugged. “I already did. Do you mind?”

“God, no. It’ll be great with her and Elodie.”

“And Pascal.”

“He won’t stay. Sylvie will find her way out, too, maybe. Unless you give her a reason to stay.”

“I have nothing to offer except this house,” Athos said.

D’Artagnan put his arm around Athos’s waist. “I don’t know how many more years Dr Lemay has managed to win me, but I plan to spend all of them proving just how damn wrong you are, Athos de la Fère.” He kissed Athos again. “Now, do you want a hand?”

*******************

Pascal had to be at the hospital for his surgery by eight am, which meant a horribly early start for him, Athos, and Sylvie who was coming in with him to return to the shop. It also meant fighting through rush hour crowds, which Pascal found a real trial both because of his damaged foot and his PTSD. Athos and Sylvie both stayed close, forming a cordon around him. It was a massive relief to all when they finally emerged from the station nearest the hospital.

“Thank you,” Pascal said. “I thought I was over that.”

“Takes time,” Athos said. “Crowds like that still make me nervous. Not just on the Métro either.”

“Nervous about what?” Sylvie asked.

“Suicide bombers,” Athos and Pascal said almost in unison. She put her hand over her mouth, but didn’t pretend their fears were silly, which Athos appreciated.

Once Pascal was admitted, Athos was at liberty until late that afternoon. They had breakfast near the hospital, then made their way to the shop. “I’m not looking forward to this,” she said as she opened the door.

To Athos, the place looked just the same, but Sylvie clearly felt her father’s absence quite keenly. She took Athos into her father’s office. It looked like utter chaos to Athos, and at first he thought the man had done without a computer, only to find a laptop almost buried by books and pamphlets and files. “I’ll have to find someone to take all this. It’s too precious to throw away, but it’s not my work. Demonstrations are important, but getting into government is much more effective. He was a councillor for sixteen years, you know. Before I was born, before Maman died. If he’d continued doing that, he might still be alive.”

She put her hand over her face, and Athos put his arm around her. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. What’s the priority today?”

“Orders, emails. I can’t let people down, and I need to start telling customers that I can’t fulfil future orders once the stock is sold.”

“Let’s do the orders first, and we can post them on the way to lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“You promised me we’d have lunch together,” Athos said, smiling. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yes, but—”

“Are you going to disappoint me, Madame Boden?”

“I hope not. But we’d better work fast.”

She gave Athos the printed orders, and set him to finding the books, while she dealt with the phone messages and emails. Three hours later there was a tidy pile of parcels to take to the post office, but more orders had come in, so there was still more to do. Sylvie also had a dozen messages to reply to, as well as notes left under the door, and emails expressing sympathy. “I can’t. I just can’t face replying to all those. Not yet.”

Athos stood behind her as she leaned over the laptop. “You don’t have to. You can either leave it until you can, or deputise someone to answer for you. I’d be willing, and so would Aramis.”

“If there was to be a funeral, then I could wait until I knew about that, but there isn’t going to be one. A memorial service, I suppose. I don’t know how such things are done.” She shut the lid on the laptop. “I should have talked to him about it.”

She stood up and turned. Athos went to step back, but she caught his wrist. “No. Please.” Puzzled at what she wanted, he went still.

She moved closer. “Athos.” Her lips parted and she kissed him. At first he held back, since perhaps she was being friendly...but no, this was more than friendliness. He put his arm around her waist and gently drew her closer, so he could deepen the kiss a little.

But then he let her go. “A little soon, perhaps?”

“No...I mean, I wanted to before Papa...is it awful of me?”

He cupped her chin. “Not at all. But there is a great deal I need to tell you about myself before you...go further.”

“Oh, you’re still married, I forgot.”

“No, I’m not. But that’s part of what...would you like to spend the night with me in the hotel, just to talk? Unless you’d prefer to be here.”

She shuddered. “No. It feels wrong without Papa. But did you book a twin room?”

“No, we’d have to share a bed. But you won’t have to worry about me seeking favours from you.”

She frowned, then her expression cleared. “Ah, of course. You’re gay. I saw you with d’Artagnan.”

Athos laughed and shook his head. “I’m not married _or_ gay. Well, not exactly gay. Let’s post these parcels and go have lunch. The rest will have to wait until we have privacy. It’s not something I want to talk about in public.”

While Sylvie waited in line to post the book orders, Athos texted d’Artagnan. _Sylvie will be my company tonight, unless you mind._

_Don’t be silly. You okay?_

_Think so. <3_

_Good luck. Call me tomorrow_

It was twenty minutes before Sylvie was served, and she was apologising for making him wait as she returned. “It’s fine,” he said. “Where would you like to eat?”

“Anywhere. I’m not fussy.”

“I am, so I’ll choose.” He’d spotted a fish restaurant he wanted to try the last time he was in the area, and headed in that direction.

They passed a pharmacy, and Sylvie pulled his arm to make him stop outside it. “I know you said you wouldn’t...but I’m not on the pill and I don’t have any condoms—”

“Darling girl, I promise you don’t need either. I really do just want to talk.”

“Oh.”

He tilted her chin and kissed her. “Not because I don’t find you appealing.”

“Oh. Okay. You know my father wouldn’t be offended.”

“I promise you this will all make sense once I explain it. Trust me?”

“With my life,” she said unhesitatingly. Which was flattering but perhaps a little foolish on her part. Athos had no intention of betraying her faith in him.

With so little of his past suitable for public consumption, Athos kept the conversation over the meal about her, and her life. “I’m very dull, though. I spent a whole two weeks in London, and another two weeks in Italy, and that’s literally the most interesting thing I’ve ever done. The rest of my life is just looking after Papa and the shop.”

“But you did your degree. You must have met people there, made friends.”

“I did. But they all went off and got great jobs, went travelling. Got married,” she added with a rueful smile. “And I went back to what I already knew.”

“No movies? No art galleries?”

“Oh of course. I know Paris like the back of my hand. Anywhere within a day’s reach of Paris by train, I’ve been to. It’s the rest of the world I’ve never seen. Where have you been? Tell me about it.”

“Military barracks and enemy camps? It’s not that exciting, and what is exciting, is classified.”

“Oh.”

“We went to New York for our honeymoon.”

“How exciting! What did you do? Where did you go? Did you go to the Met? Did you see MOMA?”

Laughing, Athos held up his hand. “We did the galleries, and the Met, as well as some off-Broadway shows. And a little shopping, of course. Anne wanted to see everything, and we did our best in two weeks.”

“So what’s Anne like? Or did you have a bitter break up?”

Athos’s throat closed up, and he shook his head. She looked away, conscious of having made him uncomfortable, but he touched her hand. “Later?”

“Okay. Or never, if it hurts too much.”

He made the effort to smile. He had to tell her all of it, if he was to tell her about any of it.

She wasn’t even a little bit dull, and if her physical horizons had been limited, her mental travelling had known no bounds. There wasn’t a topic he raised upon which she wasn’t well informed, or curious, from politics to the current state of the euro. She didn’t know much about farming, to be sure, but then Athos only knew what he’d learned from owning one and letting d’Artagnan and Aramis educate him. But her eagerness to learn beguiled him, reminding him of what it had been like to work with young recruits, and how much he missed that part of his career. And the rest of his career, if he was honest.

“I’ve made you sad,” she said, her chin on her hand.

“No, not you. Just...the things I have to tell you later.” He called for the bill. “Do you want to stay at the shop while I visit Pascal?”

“Can I come with you, please? I can pick up more clothes. I’m...not ready to face it on my own. It’s pathetic, I know.”

“When I last suffered a bereavement, I dived into a bottle and didn’t come out for six months. You’re doing amazingly well compared to me.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Only because I have you and your brothers. You’re my guardian angels.”

He huffed out a laugh. “If only you knew how unangelic I really am, dear.” The bill arrived and he paid. “So, let’s pick up your things and head to the hospital.”

*******************

Pascal was woozy but brave. “Officially monopedal,” he said when Athos asked how he was. Sylvie hid a smile.

“Are you in pain?”

“Not yet. Why don’t you sit?”

Sylvie reached for Athos’s hand as they sat, and he kept hold of it. Pascal looked at their joined hands and frowned. “When do you expect d’Artagnan?” he asked rather pointedly.

“He’s not coming today,” Athos said calmly. He wouldn’t tolerate being judged for his intimate relationships. “Sylvie and I have things to talk about tonight.”

“Right. Well, then you two should go start the conversation.” Pascal turned his head, indicating they were done.

“Sylvie, can you give the two us a few minutes,” Athos whispered in her ear.

She nodded and rose. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, smiling politely.

“Something wrong, Lieutenant Clairmont?” Athos asked as soon as she left.

“No, sir.” The lad still avoided looking at him.

“You object to my spending time with Madame Boden?”

Pascal turned to face him. “No, sir. I object to you hurting my friend. Sir.”

“By which, you mean d’Artagnan.” Pascal pursed his lips and refused to answer. Athos pulled out his phone and showed him the messages he’d had from his brother. “Not only is d’Artagnan aware of what Sylvie and I are doing, he’s encouraging us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s not actually any of your business.” But as the lad’s expression closed off, Athos relented. “I love d’Artagnan more than anyone I’ve ever known—even my late wife, and I adored her. But there are things you don’t know about the four of us, and I’m not going to talk about, but d’Artagnan can tell you if he chooses. Nothing will ever come between the four of us, and not between d’Artagnan and me.”

“But how can you do that to Sylvie?”

“I haven’t done anything, Pascal. I just want to talk to her. She wants to talk to me. She’s uncomfortable at the apartment she shared with her father, so I offered to let her stay at the hotel.”

“You’re holding hands like...like more than friends,” he said with a defiant tilt of his chin.

“Yes. I hope we will be.”

“I have no idea what’s going on.”

“No, you probably don’t. All you need to know is that there are a very small number of people on this earth I would die first rather than hurt, and one of them is d’Artagnan. So don’t worry, and when you see him, ask him what you want to know. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, tell me how you feel. Did the surgery go well?”

By the time Sylvie returned, Pascal had lost the sulky look and attitude, and was making plans for  leaving the hospital on Thursday. “I think we should bring the car in again,” Athos said. “Sylvie, if you want to take anything bulky back to the farm, you could pick it up then as well.”

“You...want me to stay that long?”

“Long as you like, I told you. You’ve been adopted, like Pascal.” The lad actually smiled at that. “I also had the thought that _Papa_ would probably take some of your stock, and so will I—at the proper rate, of course.”

“I couldn’t charge you—”

He held up his hand. “Under no circumstances. Papa would be horribly insulted, and so would I.”

She flushed. “In that case.... Pascal, have they fed you today?”

With a woeful expression, he pointed to the drip. “Lunch.”

“Oh dear.”

“They’ll feed him later,” Athos assured her. “But perhaps I could find some tea and cake to tide you over.” He stood and leaned over Sylvie’s shoulder. “Keep him amused, will you?”

He headed to the hospital café and called d’Artagnan on the way. “Hey. How are the goats?”

“Multiplying. The other does gave birth today. Aramis helped me with one of the kids who needed a bit of a hand. He found it...interesting.”

Athos grinned. “I bet. Porthos?”

“Ran away. What’s up?”

“Pascal needs a short simple explanation of our relationship. I’m not up to the task, and punted it to you. I’m just warning you. Are you coming to town tomorrow?”

“If you need me.”

“Always. No need to make it too early, but Sylvie still has a lot to do in the shop, so I thought I’d help her and you can hold Pascal’s hand. Then bring the car into town Thursday.”

“Okay.”

“This is assuming Sylvie doesn’t run screaming into the night once I tell her about me.”

“You haven’t? Athos.”

“You expect me to expound on the delights of asexual impotence in the middle of [Fish La Boissonnerie](https://www.facebook.com/Fish-La-Boissonnerie-156620904372928/?ref=page_internal)? Not to mention that highly classified you know what I’m talking about?”

“I suppose not. Did you just say ‘asexual impotence’ out loud though?”

“I’m walking fast. Send me the baby photos. Love you.”

“Me too.”

*******************

The drugs Pascal was on made him drowsy, and by six, he was done for. Athos and Sylvie checked into the [Villa Lutèce Port Royal](http://www.villa-lutece-port-royal.com/en/page/hotel-latin-district-rooms-and-suites.30.html) near the hospital. The double room was very nice, but Sylvie patted the bed a little nervously. “Are you sure you just want to talk?”

“I want to do whatever you’re comfortable with, but talking is where we have to start.” He winced. “If you knew me better, you’d understand how hard that is to admit.”

“Did you plan to go out to dinner?”

“I thought room service, actually.”

“Isn’t that really expensive?”

“Not really,” he said with a smile. “And it means we can relax. Have a bath or a shower if you like. Do you want me to order something to eat, or drink?”

“No, I’m fine. I could get undressed.” Her hand went to her neck as if to start, but she made no further movement.

He walked over and took her hands. “You still don’t believe me.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Why don't you sit?” He took the bed, and indicated the armchair. “This is going to take a while, so get comfortable.”

He started with Anne, because that was when his life had begun to deviate from the path he thought he was destined to follow. Then Thomas, and the deaths of Anne and Thomas. The drinking, the suicidal impulses, volunteering for the enhancement programme, and then finding he was enmeshed in a nightmare. “D’Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos were all I had to cling to. All that kept me sane.”

And then Treville, and a second chance, only to find that chance was to be ripped away from them all before they even started. A last chance at glory, or so they thought, then the mission from hell.

“If Treville and Lemay hadn't been watching me like hawks in Abidjan, I’d be dead now,” he said. He had to stand, walk around. Sylvie watched him with an expression of horrified fascination. “Don’t worry. That’s the worst of it. It gets better after that.”

He told her of Lemay’s inspiration, leading to a breakthrough that gave them real hope. “Now he thinks we all have at least ten years, more likely longer. We officially left the army at the end of last year, and now we all have plans for how we want to spend what time is left to us. Lemay doesn’t know if we’ll reach three score years and ten, but we’re going to live as each day could be our last.”

He knelt in front of her, and took her hands. “I am close to all my brothers. We sleep together, we need each other. Aramis and Porthos usually find each other at night, and d’Artagnan and I usually sleep together. I love him. I love them all. But we don’t have sex because we can’t. One of the side effect of the treatment was a total obliteration of our libidos, and to leave us completely impotent. Lemay’s been working hard on it, but he’s admitted that it’s likely to be permanent. Nothing he’s tried has made a blind bit of difference.”

She stared at him. “But you kissed me.”

“I did. I kiss Charles. I love kissing him, and he loves kissing me. We fondle, and hug, and stroke, and enjoy it. But we can’t get hard, we can’t come, and we don’t feel arousal.” He paused. “Actually, that’s complicated. When I met you, I felt...excited. Emotionally excited. Like when I first met Anne. And when you kiss me, it’s like when Charles kisses me. It’s a kind of emotional, cerebral arousal that doesn’t seem to translate into anything physical. Or an erection.”

She pulled her hands away, and realising he’d lost her, he climbed to his feet and retreated. “I’m sorry. Look, you can stay here. I’ll head back to the farm. D’Artagnan will meet you tomorrow—”

She frowned. “What? Athos, what are you talking about?”

“Your face. You...find me repulsive. Or weird. Or something.”

“Shut up. I do not.” She stood and came to him. “I’m struggling, that’s all. Trying to understand how this works. Or doesn’t work. Are you saying you don’t want me?”

“I do. Just not sexually. I mean, I do want you sexually but only in my head. Sylvie, I’m as confused by this as you are. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’m attracted to you. I want to be with you, to touch you, hold you. Kiss you. I want to give you pleasure, to be intimate with you. But I can’t fuck you, I can’t come no matter what we do together. I can’t give you or anyone children.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself there, aren’t you?”

“Sorry. I haven’t had to explain this to anyone before. I’ve talked to d’Artagnan about what to say, but he didn’t know any better than I did how to do it.” He sat on the bed. This had been exactly the wrong way to do it. They should have talked at the farm, not in a setting more appropriate to a dirty weekend. She’d just lost her bloody father, for fuck’s sake. “You don’t have to stay. I can go.”

He ran his hand through his hair. _Fuck fuck fuck._

She sat next to him and he jumped in surprise. “Calm down,” she said, kissing his cheek. “What do you want?”

“I want to be normal again,” he said, aware he sounded bitter and ungrateful. “What do _you_ want?”

“I want my father to not be dead.” He smiled ruefully. _Of course._ “And I want you, Athos.”

“You can’t cure me,” he warned. “If you’re thinking that you’re the exception to the rule, I’ll get d’Artagnan to strip for you.”

“Yes, please,” she said, and he stared at her in surprise. “Come on, Athos, he’s really fit. So are you. I don’t think I can cure you. I would never think that.” She lifted his hand and put it on her breast. “But if you gave me pleasure, how would that make you feel?”

Her breast was firm, small, and wonderful. “It would make me feel good.”

“Like doing me a favour?”

“No. Did you ever had a cat?”

“If you make some cheap pussy joke, Athos, I swear I’ll walk out.”

He kissed her to shut her up. “I’m not going to. Did you?”

“No, but I know what a cat is.”

He sighed. “Okay. When you held that baby goat yesterday, how did you feel?”

“Nice. It was lovely.”

“It’s like that. Stroking and kissing d’Artagnan which he enjoys, is lovely.” He shrugged. “That’s all I can say. I think giving you pleasure would be the same.”

“I had a girlfriend at University,” she said. “If you think I need a penis to keep me happy, you need to watch more lesbian porn.” She pulled off her jumper, and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her bra. “I’m willing to be your test subject, Athos. I suggest we carry out an experiment. A very long, relaxed, intimate experiment until we’re very, very sure of the results.”

She put his hand on her breast again. “Remember how to undress a woman?”

His mouth went dry. “I think I can work it out.”

*******************

Half an hour later they were both naked and under the covers. He hadn’t needed a penis to satisfy her, and watching her come—repeatedly—under his hands and his mouth, had been as intense as an orgasm only more prolonged. Her skin was satiny, her breasts were twin gems of perfection under his lips, and her cries as she came were broken and beautiful.

He’d missed making love to a woman so much. He missed Anne so much.

She kissed him as he wept, and he held her as she cried in turn for her own loss. “Things are changing so fast,” she whispered. “ _Papa_ died two days ago and here I am in bed with you.”

He tucked her in close to him. “Nothing more has to happen. Take this as comfort. I make no claims on you. You can stay, you can go, you can wander, and always be welcome when you come back. Or you can leave, find love, and I hope, remember me as a friend. Take your time, darling.”

“No wonder d’Artagnan adores you.”

“No more than I adore him.”

“If I come back...how will he feel? Would I sleep with you alone? Both of you? Would I have to sleep somewhere else?”

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Whatever you want. No one will do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you four.”

“We were made in a test tube, that’s why.” She laughed a little. “Hungry?”

“Mmmm, not yet. Let me enjoy this. Tomorrow it’s back to the real world.”

“You’ll get through this. Life goes on, however painfully.”

“Not as painfully as it could be. Thank you, Athos.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, kissing her hair. But he was the truly thankful one. She had given him back something he’d thought lost forever, and along with it, herself as well. A bowlful of the rarest blue diamonds could not equal that gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clairmont has an injured foot which must be amputated (off scene). No graphic details or gore. All the violence is in the past.


	3. Juliette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliette is their newest wounded warrior. Fresh from a horrific period of captivity, she's a much tougher nut to crack than their first guest, and Athos despairs of finding a way through to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains kittens and dogs, and a non-fatal injury to one of them (no bloody or icky detail). Mentions of rape (no details) and of torture (small amount of graphic detail given.)
> 
> Possibly also sickening amounts of fluff and cuteness, and silly animal names.
> 
> This one does not end on a cliffhanger, so you can read it without needing the rest of the story.

A month after her father’s death, Sylvie had managed to dispose of the shop’s stock and the lease. At Athos’s suggestion, she’d toyed with the idea of taking the shop entirely on-line, and moving the stock to the Garrison, but finally rejected it. The book trade held no great interest for her, and she could never compete with the on-line giants without her father’s encyclopaedic knowledge and contacts. She decided to treat that part of her life as gone as thoroughly as her father was.

Athos’s father bought a few of the books, the brothers a good few more, Treville others, and even Dr Lemay had begged for a chance to pick up some. Hubert Boden’s friends had bought almost all the rest, and had taken his papers and files to continue his work. Soon all Sylvie was left with were her own possessions, some clothes belonging to her father, and an apartment full of furniture. Athos took some of that, especially the bookcases, and the rest was left for the next tenant.

For now. she had Aramis’s bedroom, but would have her own little cabin soon enough. She slept with Athos and d’Artagnan when they didn’t want to be alone together, with Athos when she wanted to be alone with him, and a couple of times in chaste snuggling with Porthos and Aramis. She also took a hand in keeping an eye on Pascal Clairmont at night.

All of the brothers had adopted her as a pet, and treated her with charming kindness, so Athos found. Pascal quickly became her friend, and when she was free to, spent time with him and the border collie puppy he was training. Pascal had asked her to name him, and for reasons best known to herself, she called the dog Baudelaire.

Athos’s father was amused and bemused by this. His mother had wondered why they had bothered to name it at all. “You know most of the next year, it’ll just be ‘Dog’. As in “Dog, get out of the garden’ and ‘Dog, leave the chickens alone’.”

Athos had to admit she was right, but decided not to spoil the young people’s fun by telling them what she’d said.

Lost for a direction after her father had been cremated, and the plan for a memorial taken out of her hands by his friends, Sylvie spent a couple of weeks doing very little except chores around the farm, cuddling with Athos and whoever else was offering hugs that day, and walking on her own around the farm. But then she heard a local councillor was looking for a volunteer to work in their office for a couple of days a week, so she’d put her name forward, and had been eagerly snapped up. It was likely to be turned into a paid role, but for now, it was enough. She bought a small car and was, so far, enjoying the work and the journey.

Pascal had a harder time of it. The surgery had gone well, but the fact of the loss of his foot had triggered more crippling nightmares and an increase in flashbacks. He had to sleep downstairs until he had a temporary prosthesis fitted, and one of the others always kept him company. The panic room was used more times than Athos felt good for the lad, but they respected his need to escape, and six weeks after the surgery, he’d settled down quite a bit.

By then, the building work had restarted. Porthos and d’Artagnan had officially started as volunteer firefighters, and had to spend time training, but the prefab construction was mostly undertaken by the firm supplying the structures. With their superior strength and endurance, Athos and Aramis could do the work of at least two men apiece, so they carried on with the other building tasks, as well as preparing the garden, a task Sylvie had thrown herself into on her off-duty days. Pascal collected eggs, fed the goats, kept the puppy under control, and did what he could in the house while he was still on crutches. No one had much time to sit around and ruminate, which contributed to a better mood for all the residents.

The second the first cabin was ready for a resident, Colonel Treville alerted them he had a new warrior in need of help—and urgently. Juliette Grimaud had been one of the super-enhanced female subjects, seconded to the [DGSE](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Directorate-General_for_External_Security), and had distinguished herself by her heroics on some of the most dangerous missions going. But her luck had run out, and she had been captured by Russian operatives in the Ukraine, tortured and sexually abused for seven weeks, before she was recovered in a prisoner exchange. Broken in mind and still healing in body, without relatives who could take her in or friends who had the smallest idea what she had gone through, Juliette’s last hope was the Garrison.

“She needs sanctuary, and given her physical abilities, a secure one. She’s not remotely close to being able to undergo psychotherapy,” Treville had told Athos. “Do you think you can handle her?”

“Is she an active danger to our civilian residents? Or my family?”

“No. Only to herself. She needs the lightest of touches, Athos. Remember yourself at your lowest point. Now imagine you like that _without_ your brothers, or booze to cushion things.”

Athos hissed quietly. “Jesus.”

“Yes. Can you take her?”

“How can we _not_ take her? Bring her down as soon as you can.”

Treville agreed to bring her down on the weekend. It was already Tuesday. He needed to get all the residents together and talk to them about the newest addition, so he invited his brothers, Pascal, Sylvie, and Elodie to eat dinner together at the farm. His parents came too, because they were as likely to meet Juliette as any of the others.

“Juliette Grimaud is a very special case,” Athos told them. “She’s a super soldier with all her abilities still intact, but with a damaged mind and dangerous reactions if she feels threatened. _Maman, Papa,_ I must ask that you have one of us with you if you’re talking to her, or that you keep your distance. It may take weeks before she’s ready for normal conversation with anyone.”

“If you treat her like a wild animal, she’ll be one,” Porthos said. “Or are you forgetting what the army did to us?”

He had a point. “What do you suggest?”

“May I?”

Athos turned to Pascal. “Of course.”

“Let the women be the one to approach her. I mean Sylvie and Elodie. You too, _madame_ ,” he added, nodding to Athos’s mother.

“Thoughts?” Athos asked.

“I think that’s sound,” Athos’s father said. “She may set off our own defensive instincts, and that will trigger hers in turn.”

“See how she reacts to us,” Aramis said. “But in small doses, from a distance.”

“And keep it one on one,” d’Artagnan said. “But not where she’ll feel trapped. Let her always have an exit.”

“Pascal, do you feel you could work with Sylvie and Elodie and _Maman_ to work out a strategy? A schedule, things you can suggest she might like to do? Remember, she’ll need a lot more activity than we four do now.”

“Get her onto a horse,” _Maman_ said. “One of ours if yours don’t suit.”

“If she’s willing, yes,” Athos said. “I don’t know her background in that kind of thing. Pascal, Sylvie, you have three days to furnish her cabin with the basics.”

“Make it beautiful,” Aramis said. “Soft colours, nothing sharp or ugly.”

“But don’t go overboard,” Athos warned. “Keep it simple. We can buy more. We don’t want the cabins to become cluttered.”

“A body pillow,” d’Artagnan said. “Fluffy blankets, one good chair, good bedding.”

“Charles, if you have such definite ideas, you just nominated yourself to help. You can drive, take the big car.”

“Yes, sir,” d’Artagnan said, grinning at him.

“And don’t forget basic toiletries, nice towels and a thick bathrobe,” Elodie said.

“I’m coming too,” _Maman_ said. “I’ve had enough guests over the years to know what they need.”

“Of course.” Athos’s mother’s willingness to help with these projects with them always delighted him. “Anything else? Then you have your orders, ladies and gentlemen.”

By Saturday morning, their new guest’s cabin was fully furnished in a spare, light style with delicate colours and soft edges. Facing south, each cabin was designed to have maximum natural light, an entry on either side, with blackout blinds to allow privacy and good sleep. Unless she wanted to use a washing machine, Juliette could live quite self-contained in the little house. Whether she would want to, remained to be seen.

Treville arrived just before noon. A woman, wearing clothes somewhat heavier than the warm weather needed and her hair hidden under a beanie, climbed out of the passenger seat and kept the car between herself and the waiting hosts. “This is Juliette Grimaud, everyone.”

Athos stayed where he was while Sylvie moved forward. “Hello, Juliette. Welcome to the Garrison.”

Juliette responded with a short nod. Sylvie moved around the car to her side. “Would you like to have something to eat or drink first, or see the cabin?”

It was only because Athos had enhanced hearing that he heard the quiet, “Cabin.” Treville popped the car’s boot, and Juliette extracted a duffle bag. Sylvie glanced at Athos, who nodded, then she led Juliette to her new home.

“ _Papa_ and _Maman_ are expecting you, Jean,” Athos said, leaving Juliette to Sylvie. Elodie, Pascal and Aramis—now working in his garden—would remain at the house, and give their newcomer lunch. D’Artagnan and Porthos were out, attending to firefighter business. Athos and Treville planned to stay away for a few hours to let Juliette settle in.

Treville opened the driver’s door on the car. “I’ve been looking forward to lunch with them. Climb in.”

“Half a mile too far for you these days?” Athos teased as Treville set off.

“Just because you could probably run to Paris quicker than I could drive there doesn’t mean you can be cheeky, major.”

“Those days are behind me. Now it would take twice the time. Maybe we should try it one day.”

“God knows where you find the energy. Now tell me about Pascal.”

Athos was able to report good progress with Pascal. “Once he’s fitted with the prosthesis, I think he’ll be ready to think about the next stage in his life. He’s been looking into a master’s degree in computer engineering. By the time a course started, he should be finished his therapy and able to live in the real world again. If he wants to.”

They were already at his parents’ house. Treville parked up and got out. “You think he might stay?”

“He’s welcome to. But I doubt we offer enough for him to want to. We did agree he could stay as long as he wanted to.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t expecting them to.”

“A promise is a promise, Jean. These people have no other homes. They must see the Garrison as one.”

“You’ll be overrun.”

“We’ll see,” Athos said calmly. He wasn’t bothered if they were. There was plenty of room for more cabins.

He walked home from his parents’ place around three o’clock. Sylvie was alone in the house. He gave her a kiss and a cuddle, but her rueful expression didn’t change much. “That bad?”

“This is not going to be easy, let’s just say that.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing really. She didn’t react to anything I said. I showed her the cabin, explained the laundry arrangements and the safe room, said we’d like to give her lunch. She listened but didn’t say anything. Then she went for a run. That was three hours ago.”

“Bloody hell.” Not only was that bad for Juliette’s long-term health, the idea of someone that damaged and dangerous out on the public roads or wherever the hell she was, was a truly bad idea. “Did you get a phone number from her?”

Sylvie nodded and showed her phone to Athos. He put the number in his own phone. “Darling, could you call her? Find out where she is, ask her to come back to eat?”

“Okay.” She placed the call and waited. She ended up leaving a voice message. “No answer.”

“We need to find her. Jean will kill me if she hurts someone.”

“I don’t think she would do that.”

He took her hands. “Unfortunately, she might without intending to. Where’s Aramis?”

“Back in the garden.”

He kissed her again and went out to find his brother. Aramis stood up as he approached. “Juliette is out on a run.”

“Yes, I know,” Aramis said.

“For _three hours_ , Aramis. Now she’s not answering her phone.”

Aramis cocked his head. “She’s speaking to Sylvie now.”

Athos listened and heard Sylvie in the kitchen on the phone, and then the back door opening and Sylvie’s footsteps down the path to the garden. “She’s on her way back,” Sylvie called when she spotted them.

“Thank fuck,” Athos muttered. “Aramis, you were supposed to keep an eye on her.”

“She was gone before I had any idea about it.”

“Not good enough. We need to be able to track her, for her own sake.”

Aramis scratched his beard. “GPS tracker then. But will she allow it?”

“She’s going to have to.”

An hour later, the motion sensors detected someone in Juliette’s cabin, and a few minutes after that, Athos asked Sylvie to invite Juliette to the house. He set to making some pasta for a quick meal, and warming some sauce. It was another half hour before Juliette and Sylvie appeared, Sylvie grim-faced and Juliette wearing no expression at all.

It was Athos’s first clear look at her. Her dark hair was messy and shoulder-length, as if it had been hacked off, rather than cut professionally. Her eyes were extraordinary—large and green—but in no way windows to her soul. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling at all.

“Welcome back,” he said. “I’ve made pasta. Is that all right?”

Juliette shrugged and sat down. Athos looked at Sylvie. “Where’s Pascal?”

“Goats. I think I’ll go find him.”

Athos smiled at her for taking the hint, then dished up Juliette’s meal. She wolfed it down same as he and his brothers used to when their enhancements were at their peak, and when he refilled her bowl, she ate all of that too. He gave her two large glasses of water, and waited for her to sate her thirst.

When she was done, he sat down across from her. She leaned back and watched him with wary eyes. “Dr Lemay never gave you the lecture about overdoing it, then,” he said.

“He has. I ignored it.”

“It’s for your own good.”

“I can judge that myself, major.”

“All right. But I also gave Colonel Treville a promise that I would keep you and the civilian population safe. That means, for the moment, keeping you apart.”

“I have no intention of going near any civilians.” Those wide eyes had an expression now—one of intense loathing. For what or whom, Athos wasn’t sure.

“Unfortunately, civilians are unpredictable. Could you please stick to back roads, and also let us know where you’re going?”

“Is that a condition of remaining?”

“No. It’s a polite request.”

She nodded, then stood, her hands on the back of the chair. “What other restrictions do you wish to impose, major?”

Athos sighed to himself. “I’m imposing nothing, Juliette. We are your comrades in arms, concerned at all times for welfare. We want to know you are eating enough, getting enough rest, feel safe, and where to find you. That’s all. I want to know if you need anything. What you would like to do. If there’s something we need to do, or not to do. So, do you want to tell me anything?”

“Do I have to eat here?”

“No, but your cabin only has basic cooking facilities. You’re welcome to use this kitchen—just let someone know when, and I’ll make sure it’s clear for you. You’re welcome to sleep where you wish too—in a bedroom here, in the living room, in the cabin. In the sheds, if it pleases you. Just let us know. Anything else?”

“Yes. No one is to touch me, ever.”

“Of course. Do you have all you need?”

Her grip on the chair turned her knuckles white. “No. But I have all you can give me.”

She turned and walked out. _Definitely a tough case_. She reminded him of himself over two years before, when Treville had rescued them. Treville had won their trust by never lying, never presuming, and never condescending. Would that work with Juliette? She had endured worse than anything he and his brothers had had to face.

Aramis came in a couple of minutes later. “I, uh, heard.”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s a very fragile person about thirty seconds from losing it. So, like a baby bird, we hold her lightly, keep her warm and safe, and wait for her own capacity to heal and grow to kick in.”

“Agreed. We all need to keep an eye on her, but without looking like we are.”

“She’ll notice.”

“Yes. Still, we have to do it. How’s the garden?”

“Thriving. Well, surviving, more like it,” he said with a rueful grin. “I’m still learning.”

“We all are. Sorry I barked at you earlier.”

Aramis came over and kissed him on the head. “You’re learning too. Have we time for a horse hide together?”

“We’ll make time.”

For two weeks, Juliette was a ghost to Athos. If it hadn’t been for Sylvie, Elodie and Pascal, he would never have known she was around. The three of them made sure they knew where their troubled guest was at all times, and reported to Athos that she was eating and looking after herself, although still carrying out punishing runs, even in the middle of the night. Short of tying her up—which Athos would die rather than inflict on her—there was nothing he could do about that, and for the moment, the long-term effect of her enhancements and excessive exercise was the least of her problems.

But for the main one facing her now, he had no clue where to begin. Pascal, for all his flashbacks and broken memories, had welcomed physical and emotional contact and responded to it. Juliette would not grant them that path to recovery.

But he had an idea. Baudelaire had been Pascal’s comfort after the amputation. The farm still had capacity for a dog and two cats, and his mother had yet to select a kitten for their house. He asked if she was prepared to do so soon, and by chance, a neighbour had a litter of five-week-old kittens ready for rehoming. He took his mother over in the car, and they collected a basket of mewling, furry creatures to bring back to the Garrison. He set up _Maman_ in the living room with some old towels, and went to call on Juliette.

The look she gave him when he opened the door could have frozen mercury. “Good morning,” he said brightly. “I have a favour to ask.” When she folded her arms and said nothing, he went on. “We need a couple of farm cats. I say ‘need’—more of a want. D’Artagnan insists a farm without a cat is like a garden without plants.”

She gave him a “Why are you bothering me with this, fool?” look.

“Everyone else is busy,” he lied. “And I know nothing about cats. We have a likely litter to choose from. My mother is going to take one, but I wondered if you’d like to pick a couple? It’s a treat we’ve already given to Pascal.”

As soon as he said the word ‘treat’ her expression became scornful, and he realised he’d screwed up. “I mean...pets are a pleasure. I would like to offer you that pleasure.” Damn, even that sounded wrong.

“Is this meant to cure me?”

“No. It’s meant to be something nice in a world full of shit. Come and look, at the very least. I’d like you to meet my mother anyway. She’s a doctor, and we use her shamelessly.”

Her expression less scornful, but no less wary, she shut the door behind her and followed him to the house and into the living room. The kittens were causing tiny mayhem.

“I’m sorry, dear,” _Maman_ said as they walked in and closed the door again. “The little beggars keep getting away from me.” She was sitting on the floor with a squirming armful of cats, but there were four more roaming around.

“Juliette, give me a hand, please?”

He went after two ginger siblings, and Juliette quickly caught a grey and a mostly black one. Athos dumped his captives in front of his mother and sat on the floor with her. “Still want another cat, _Maman_?”

“I’d forgotten what they were like when they were small. We’d had Maude so long. Hello, my dear, I’m Claire.”

She reached out to put her hand on Juliette’s arm. Juliette reacted so fast that had Athos not been enhanced and been able to stop her fist in time, his mother would have had a broken nose. As it was, kittens went flying and she caught him a good blow on the side of his face. He let her go as soon as her muscles relaxed, and she scooted backwards against a chair, her eyes wild and unseeing.

He kept his hands by his side, and moved no closer, using his voice to soothe her. “Juliette, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in no danger. You’re okay.”

He kept murmuring, ignoring his mother’s horrified attempt to apologise, until Juliette appeared to be aware of them again. “All right?” he said.

She rubbed her arms and nodded, looking away.

“I’m sorry,” _Maman_ said. “I should have—”

“ _Maman_ , it’s my fault. Juliette very clearly told us not to touch her, and I forgot to warn you. I apologise to both of you.”

Juliette stared at him. He kept his expression friendly, his stance open.

“Oh dear,” Maman said. “The kittens are loose again.”

All eight of them were wandering around now. Athos climbed slowly to his feet. “Major Grimaud, are you up to this mission?”

Juliette’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he was sure she knew what he was about, but she helped him collect the little treasures and deposit them in his mother’s lap or near her. Athos sat again and used his legs to corral them.

“ _Maman_ , do you want to try that introduction again?”

“No need,” Juliette said. “Can we just get this over with?”

“The ginger female is my choice,” Maman said. “They’re supposed to have good natures.”

“It’s a cat,” Athos said. “A furry killing machine that fools you into thinking it won’t eat your face because it purrs.”

“ _Athos_.”

“It’s true. Dogs don’t lie. Cats always lie.”

She frowned at him. “I thought you liked Maude.”

“I did. But I never trusted her. You never know what’s going on in those little pointed heads.”

“You lack a soul, my son. Kittens are lovely.” She held her chosen one up to her cheek. “Look at her.”

“Give her time to grow into her full lethality. I’ll lend you Porthos to teach you self-defence in preparation.”

“Oh, you’re ridiculous. And besides, I can still knock you on your backside. I wasn’t just a doctor. I was a soldier.”

Athos pretended to cringe and she shook her head at him in mock disgust. He glanced sideways—was that a very, very almost smile on Juliette’s impassive face? “Your turn to pick,” he said to her. “Better get a couple of mean ones.”

Juliette definitely rolled her eyes that time. She looked at the seven remaining cats, and picked up a tortoiseshell one to examine. Athos thought she’d chosen, but no, she put it down, and picked up another. She did the same with all of them, before saying, “That one and that one.”

A grey one with dainty white socks and a handsome tuxedo kitten, both female. They all seemed the same, temperamentally, to him. “Done. Now, we have to get the rest of them back to their mother, so can I impose on you a little longer and ask you to mind them while I drive them home? _Maman_ , you’ll return for yours, when?”

“Tomorrow, perhaps. I have to buy all the bits for them. Claudette will be an indoor cat.”

“Really?”

She looked at him. “Oh yes. Like Maude was. It’s too dangerous out there for them. Foxes and dogs and cars and tomcats.” She put the newly christened ‘Claudette’ in front of Juliette. “They need a lot of humanisation at this age, otherwise you will never tame them. The more contact the better.”

“I know nothing about cats,” Juliette said in an unamused tone. “I’m not a child.”

“That makes two of us,” Athos said. “But if you could mind them for half an hour, it would be doing me a favour. Okay?”

A curt nod was his only answer. He gathered the other kittens into the basket, and then helped his mother to her feet. “Don’t worry if they piddle. We can wipe it up later. Just play with them, get them used to your voice. You need to be in physical contact, if I understand the theory. All right?”

Another nod. He smiled and his mother followed him out of the room. He put his finger to his lips to ensure she didn’t say anything indiscreet before they got in the car and drove off. “My goodness,” _Maman_ said. “Pascal was a pussycat, pardon the pun, compared to her.”

“Yes. Juliette is more like a wild wolf.”

“No, she’s not an animal, Athos. She’s a frightened, injured, intelligent woman. Do you think kittens going to help?”

“I don’t know, Maman. I needed to try something. She’s walled off.”

“Yes, poor dear. But she didn’t run away, though she wanted to. She’s brave and stubborn. You can work with that.”

“How, though?”

“Slowly. The cats were a good idea. But now you need to build on it.”

“I intend to.”

Athos had, as indeed as his mother had too, already bought the necessary supplies for the kittens—food, basket, litter trays, carrier. Now he needed to convince Juliette to take on their continued humanisation. On his return, he found her sitting where he’d left her, the kittens climbing all over her. “Were they much trouble?”

“Would I be here if they were?”

“I would hope so. But I would hardly blame you if you weren’t.” He sat on the armchair, well away from her. “How does this feel?”

“Pleasurable,” she admitted as if it was painful to do so. “But I’m being manipulated and I don’t like it.”

“You are _not_ being manipulated. I told you the truth. We want the cats. I wanted to give you something enjoyable to do. They need humanisation. And right now, you’re the obvious candidate. Charles is busy with the goats and the vines, Porthos with the horses, and they both have jobs to do. Aramis is working the garden on his own, Sylvie has a job, and so does Elodie. And Pascal has a canine shadow, which I imagine these little things would not care for much right now.”

“You want me to look after them,” she said, distaste clear in her tone.

“That would be unpleasant?”

“I’m not fit to do so.”

“In what way?”

She pursed her lips. “I can’t be depended on. I can’t depend on _myself_.”

“So you’re afraid the kittens will starve?”

“Or run away. Or whatever else it is they do.”

“They won’t starve. Someone will check on them. But if you would agree to feed them, empty the litter tray while they’re in here, come in and play with them, or take them to your cabin to play with, then that would be a help, and I hope, pleasurable. Juliette, I think it’s been a while since you did something you enjoyed.”

She froze, staring up at him. “What did I say?” he asked, confused.

“Nothing.”

“Do you want to try? We’ll manage if you don’t, but kittens are supposedly good for people.”

“You don’t like them.”

“I have other outlets.”

“Can they live in my cabin?”

“Of course. I just assumed....” He shook his head. “I should have asked. But if you’re doing that, I should take _Maman’s_ over to her now. She can manage until tomorrow. They’ll destroy your home otherwise.” He stood. “Why don’t you take ours back to your place now, and I’ll leave the stuff for them outside. I’ll take Claudette over to the house. Bloody awful name,” he muttered.

“And these two?” she asked, climbing awkwardly to her feet while carefully holding the new farm kittens. “What do you want to call them?”

“I have no idea. Thing One and Thing Two? Don’t ask Sylvie. She’ll name them Victor Hugo and Flaubert, or something. Whatever you like.”

“Because you can change them when I leave.”

He shook his head. “Because they’re _cats_ , Juliette. If they were children, I would care. Would you like something to eat or drink before you go?”

“No.” She walked to the door and went out.

Athos scooped up the ginger female and put it inside his shirt where it promptly stuck its claws in, squirming around. “Ouch, you little bugger,” he said without heat. He went to the pantry and picked up the supplies, then took them over to Juliette’s cabin, laying them on the doorstep, knocking, and calling, “Everything’s here.”

He didn’t wait for her answer. He walked over to his parents’ house, kitten still on board, though asleep and purring. He actually liked cats and had been playing up a pretended lack of interest, but since he had enough human lovers to pet and play with, and them to pet and play with him, he couldn’t see the point of wasting time on anything else. Juliette, on the other hand, had no one. Maybe Thing One and Thing Two would give her something she couldn’t ask a person for.

His father greeted him as he entered the house, and Athos drew out the sleeping kitten and deposited it in _Papa_ ’s hands, just to see the pretended look of horror—for his father was as fake as an ailurophobe as Athos himself. “What am I to do with this?”

“I believe the Romans used to bake hedgehogs in clay. You might give it a go. It’s for _Maman_ ,” he added as fake horror became the real thing. “She’s called it ‘Claudette’.”

His father paused, thinking about it, then groaned. “Good God, that’s an awful name.”

“Isn’t it. I’ll leave that one up to you, Papa. Thank her for me, please. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course. Everything all right at the farm?”

“It will be,” Athos said. “It’ll just take time.”

*******************

Very little changed after Kitten-tide, as Aramis had started calling it. Juliette remained elusive for the first week, and the only obvious sign that she was taking care of two additional creatures was the addition of kitty litter and cat food to the shopping list. But as the weather grew warmer, and the building works moved well away from her end of the accommodation block, she emerged from the cabin at least once a day to let the kittens run around the yard. She’d warned Pascal, he’d told Athos, and so Baudelaire was kept on a tight leash if he came into the part of the farm during the day.

Athos never approached her, though he would smile and wave if she saw him looking. Sylvie hadn’t managed to make any headway with her, but Elodie had to a small extent. At least, Juliette would greet her voluntarily, and almost smile if Elodie greeted her first. Great strides, considering.

Meanwhile, Pascal had been fitted for a temporary prosthesis and the change in his mood was as dramatic as his change in mobility. He threw himself into training Baudelaire in earnest and doing what chores he could manage, the puppy constantly at his side. The dog even slept with him at night, which Athos would never had allowed, if it hadn’t been that it was Pascal, and it was Baudelaire. Separating them would have been a sin.

Pascal was the only man on the farm who could talk to Juliette directly, though he always kept his distance. Though he was a similar build to d’Artagnan, and d’Artagnan was hardly a menacing kind of fellow, something about Pascal didn’t trigger Juliette half as much as the other men did. She was no warier with him than with Sylvie, though more than she was with Elodie. This was also an advance.

Athos was in the kitchen two weeks after Kitten-tide when Pascal came in to see him. “I was going to ask Juliette to introduce the cats to Baudelaire. D’Artagnan says they need to get to know each other.”

“Right. Did he tell you how to do this?”

Pascal nodded. “Yeah, and I’ve been looking it up. Border collies are usually okay and I’ll keep him on the leash.”

“Then go talk to her. But heaven help you if something happens to one of those kittens.”

“I know. I’ll be careful. She’d take it very hard.”

“To say the least. Let me know so I can watch. I’d like to see it.”

“She’s outside now. I’ll leave Baudelaire tied up while I talk to her.”

“No, let me have his lead. I’ll sit with him.”

Baudelaire was thrilled to have another of his humans paying attention, and Athos was very fond of the dog, so it was no strain to sit in the sun and play with him while watching Pascal walk over to Juliette and, standing a little way away from her, have a conversation with her.

She was apprehensive, Athos could tell that from the straight set of her shoulders, but she nodded, and Pascal came back for the puppy. “We’re going to try now.”

“Good luck.” Athos had no experience of this, so was curious to know how it would go. Over by the animal sheds, d’Artagnan had stopped to watch as well. Athos waved, and his brother waved back. With any luck, one of them would be able to reach the dog before it did any harm, but Juliette was faster than either of them. Athos just hoped she wouldn’t injure a human if she had to intervene.

Pascal brought Baudelaire to heel and commanded him to sit. Juliette put the kittens on the ground near him, and stepped back. Baudelaire let out an excited yip, which made the kittens rise up and hiss, but Pascal made him hush and the puppy settled. The kittens stalked around him, backs arched and fur on end, but the dog did nothing to upset them. Juliette said something, and Pascal gave a command for Baudelaire to lie down. Then the humans waited.

The kittens continued to stalk in high dudgeon around the prone dog, but Baudelaire just wagged his tail and tolerated them, clearly unconcerned by the fur balls. After a few minutes, the kittens got bored with trying to scare him off, and instead decided to investigate this creature more closely, going nose to nose with him, then the grey one climbed on top of him. Juliette smiled a little, and Pascal looked over at Athos with an expression of triumph.

This nonsense went on for another twenty minutes, during which time d’Artagnan abandoned any pretence he was working and came down to sit next to Athos, putting his arm around his waist. “Remind you of anything?” d’Artagnan asked.

Athos nuzzled at d’Artagnan’s neck. “Just a bit. Is that likely to continue?” he asked, pointing with his chin at the animals playing.

“Should do. Those cats have to get used to being outside, and with the dog. She’s taking it well.”

“Seems to be, yes.” Pascal and Juliette were now crouched down, watching the pets. Baudelaire was allowed to walk around and sniff the kittens, but he made no move to hurt either one. “That’s a very good dog.”

“Yes. And a very good trainer. It’ll break Pascal’s heart to leave him behind.”

“I won’t force him to. He’ll always be Pascal’s dog, wherever Pascal ends up.”

“If we get more incoming wounded, that dog better be polyamorous.”

Athos chuckled. “I think he will be.” He climbed to his feet. “Right, I can’t sit here all day. How are the goats?”

“Good. We’re now producing enough milk for serious cheese production, if you and Aramis are ready to start.”

“I am. We need to, with all these people.” Though it wasn’t a complaint. Athos liked having all of them around.

The kitten and puppy show was still going by lunchtime, and picked up again the next day. To Athos’s astonishment, he later saw Juliette going for a walk with Pascal and the dog, though Pascal returned soon after while she went for a run. “I can’t go too far,” he reported with a rueful smile when Athos came out the back to see how it was.

“You’ve gone much further than I ever hoped you would.”

Pascal’s smile turned from rueful to pleased.

It was June already, and the farm was in full swing. Two more cabins were going in once the foundations and septic systems had been put in. Porthos and Athos bore the brunt of the construction now with the others either busy with the animals and crops, or doing their paid work. Sylvie had been offered a paid part-time position at the councillor’s office which suited her perfectly. One of the cabins had her name on it, though she said she was content with things as they were. So was Athos, and none of the brothers were keen to have her leave the house.

Juliette very slowly, painfully, shed a little of her aloofness, though only with certain people. Athos himself, Pascal, Elodie, of course. Aramis, sometimes, and Sylvie would receive a smile and a greeting if the wind blew in the right direction. Porthos was ignored, though to be fair, he kept his distance as originally agreed, and d’Artagnan only got a cold, impassive glare if he came near.

The reasons for this weren’t obvious, but d’Artagnan didn’t take it personally. “I might look like one of her torturers,” he said.

“Or smell like one. Her senses are more sensitive than ours.”

D’Artagnan, standing behind him, slung his arms around Athos’s waist. “You saying I smell, love?”

“You do spend a lot of time with the goats.”

“And you spend a lot of time with garlic. Do you hear me complaining?”

“No. And you didn’t hear me complain either. I like how you smell.”

“Good save.”

Athos grinned and turned around to kiss him. “Yes, I thought so.”

The next pair of pre-fab cabins were delivered on a hot, bright, late June morning, when most of the farms humans were thinking about finding some shade, and the farm’s animals were making the most of the sun before they too would need to find shelter. Athos and Porthos helped unload the first cabin from the lorry while Pascal and Juliette watched from her little porch. Despite the heat, she still wore the heavy long-sleeved shirt and jeans as she had on her arrival. None of them had ever seen her in shorts or bare arms.

Athos started on the second cabin, but finding Porthos was enough assistance for the task, he decided he would be more useful preparing lunch for the crew and the rest of the inhabitants. “Come on, lazy bones,” he called to Pascal. “Want to help me cook?”

“Sure. Watch Baudelaire for me?” he asked Juliette. She nodded, and he followed Athos into the house.

“How are things there?” Athos asked as he washed up in the laundry.

“Good. She doesn’t say much. I told her about why I was here, and how I’ve managed to improve a bit. She didn’t comment though.”

“It’ll be a while before she’s ready for that. But she’s getting better, I think.”

“Yeah, I think so. It must have been bad, Athos. She freezes sometimes and the look in her eyes frightens the hell out of me.”

Athos dried his arms and hands. “Yes. Imagine what it’s like for her.”

Aramis walked into the kitchen just as they started laying out bowls. “I come bearing gifts.” A lettuce, tomatoes, even some courgette flowers. “Beans soon.”

Athos accepted the bounty, admiring the quality. “Got any basil?”

“Masses. I’ll fetch some.”

“Thanks.”

Aramis had his hand on the door when they heard Juliette scream, and Porthos bellowed, “Athos!”

“Jesus,” Athos said, bolting outside after Aramis.

He found the workmen standing around Porthos who held something in his hands. Juliette stood next to Porthos. “The kitten’s hurt,” Porthos said, his voice breaking. “One of the beams swung, hit her...no one saw her, Athos.”

The little grey cat was worryingly still in Porthos’s big hands. Juliette gave Athos a wild-eyed stare. “She needs a vet, right now.”

“Get her carrier and a towel,” Athos told her. “Aramis, take charge of the cat, and I’ll get the car. Pascal,” he called over his shoulder, “get the other kitten and Baudelaire inside and keep them away from the construction.”

By the time he had the car ready, Aramis had wrapped the injured grey kitten in the towel and Juliette was holding it in her arms. “She needs to hold her,” Aramis said. “The kitten will bounce around too much in the carrier.”

“That’s fine.” Athos held the passenger door open and Juliette climbed in. “Find d’Artagnan and let him know. I’ll call you from the vet’s.”

He drove as carefully and fast as he could. After a brief discussion as to whether his mother could help—Juliette told him the kitten wasn’t breathing properly so it needed more than first aid—she said nothing more, cradling the animal with exquisite care.

It took fifteen minutes to get to their vet, and Athos was horribly afraid the cat would die before they got there. To his enhanced hearing the poor thing’s desperate panting sounded as if it was mortally injured.

On arrival, they rushed into the clinic and up to the front desk. “Two-month old kitten hit by a heavy beam at our farm,” Athos said. “She’s not breathing right.”

The receptionist jumped up and came back with a scrubs-clad vet. “Follow me,” she said. She took them into an examination room and told Juliette to put the kitten on the table. “What’s her name?” the vet asked as she listened to the kitten’s breathing through a stethoscope.

“Bit,” Juliette said.

“Bit?” Athos asked. “What’s the other one?”

“Fit.”

“Fit and Bit?”

Juliette gave him a look as if to say, “You want to make something of that?”, and didn’t reply. Athos suspected Aramis’s hand in this somewhere, but it was hardly important right now.

“Okay, I think she has some broken ribs and a pneumothorax—a collapsed lung,” the vet explained. “She needs an x-ray and treatment for the lung. I’ll take her in now. If you could give Patrice your details, and then you can wait outside.”

“Will she survive?” Juliette asked, her voice trembling.

“I hope so,” the vet said with a bright smile. “Go on. She’s in good hands.”

Athos led the way out to the reception area, but Juliette muttered, “I can’t do this,” and headed outside. He didn’t follow immediately, because he had to book the kitten in under its ridiculous name and give his contact and credit card details.  The waiting room was busy and no doubt there were a few people there cursing them pair of them for queue jumping, but he didn’t care. Once the paperwork was done, he called Aramis to let him know what was going on, and to ask him to take charge of things until he returned.

“How is Juliette?”

“Not good. I’ll call again.”

“Good luck, my friend.”

He found Juliette outside sitting on a bench next to a flowerbed. “May I sit?”

She gave him the briefest of nods so he sat at the other end, giving her as much space as he could. “Did you see what happened?”

“No. One...of the men...said a swinging beam hit Bit as she sat on a pile of timber.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s only a cat.”

He looked at her. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Then why didn’t you call it a bad job and just wring her neck. Why waste time and money on a cat? It’s not really important, is it?”

She rubbed her arms but didn’t answer.

“For me, I think it would be such a shame. She’s a pretty little thing, and gives you and Pascal a lot of pleasure. She doesn’t care how damaged you are. She just knows you care for her and enjoy her company, and give her cuddles and treats. She doesn’t ask more than that.”

“Shut up, Athos.”

“Okay. We could be here a while. Do you want lunch?”

“No.”

“All right. I’m going to get some tea.” He’d spotted a café near the surgery, and thought she could do with a drink, even if she wouldn’t admit it. He knew from Elodie that Juliette liked sweetened mint tea, which the café sold, fortunately. He bought a cup for her, and a Darjeeling for himself, and brought them back. “Here.”

She accepted the drink without thanking him. He sipped his own, and wondered how to handle things if the cat died. “I’ve done this before. Waited to see how my pet was after surgery. Only it was d’Artagnan, not a cat.”

That made her stare at him as if he was a loon. “I was thinking about that,” he said, not expecting a verbal response, “when Pascal got Baudelaire. About how the four of us had found each other, found a source of unqualified love and support which we desperately needed, but you usually only get from an animal companion. He’s found it with the dog, and it’s done him a world of good. I was lucky. People aren’t as forgiving as animals.”

“What a load of sentimental crap. The only person you can depend on, is yourself.”

“Maybe normally. It’s not true for me. If I fell off a cliff, I know the other three would die trying to catch me. I’d do the same for them.”

“Then you’re all fools.”

“If you believed that, you would never have been in the military. We have to trust our comrades.”

“Doing that is what landed me in a militant camp being tortured for weeks on end. I was betrayed by someone I’d trusted. A sister I would have died to save. A traitor to France and to her comrades.” Her breathing was fast and harsh now. Athos kept quiet, not wanting to push her into a panic attack. “She betrayed me to the enemy to protect a man she valued more than her honour, her duty. Her loyalty to me.”

She stopped speaking. After a while, Athos murmured, “I’m sorry.”

She sneered. “Everyone’s so sorry. Sorry you were captured, Major Grimaud. Sorry it took so long to rescue you. Sorry we didn’t kill the bastards. Sorry you’re too fucked up to stay in the army. Sorry the experiments we carried out on you made it easier for your torturers to hurt you and hurt you and hurt you—” She broke off and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “And then they pushed me off onto a bunch of wrecks and said, oh look, now you’re broken too. Maybe you can fix each other. Bullshit.”

“They didn’t even give us that choice,” Athos said. “They threw us at Treville and told him to either fix us, imprison us for life, or kill us. The preferred option was ‘termination’.” He made the air quotes with his fingers. “We were just the victims of General Richelieu’s power games. When we took his shit sandwich and made it into a banquet, he set us up on a fake mission in which we were all supposed to die. D’Artagnan nearly did. If it hadn’t been for Treville, we would all be dead, one way or another. He fought for us, and he fought for you. We weren’t your last hope. We’re your best hope. A more honourable man would have taken other options. Easier options which made you and your guilt-inducing presence just...go away.” He flicked his fingers to indicate how easy it would be.

“But you do nothing. You just farm.”

“We built a sanctuary for men and women like us. Like you. Like Pascal. Because surgery and therapy can only do so much. Were you happier where you were before you came here? You were in a hospital ward, I understand. Did you prefer that?”

She stared, then shook her head minutely. “But I’m just as much out of their way, just as much out of sight.”

“For now. It’s a good thing to hide sometimes. That’s why we have a panic room. Aramis was like you are now, did you know that? Not even Treville knows about this. His unit, all new recruits and officers, had been sent on a training in Afghanistan, but their position was betrayed, and nearly all of them were slaughtered. He was the only survivor, and only just. Turned out that the intelligence on their position was part of a dirty, dishonourable deal made with the Mujahadeen in exchange for the identities and whereabouts of a jihadist leader France had been chasing for two years. Twenty good soldiers died, so one miserable evil shit could be found and assassinated.”

He paused to sip his tea. The night Aramis had told them about this had been dreadful for his brother, leading to days of flashbacks, and a severe depressive episode that had taken all four of them and some damn strong medication to pull him out of. “None of this is in the records. It was all erased and lied about. Lives were probably saved. Aramis didn’t care about that much back then. He still suffers flashbacks and chronic depression from it. How he is now, is as good as he’s ever been, and he says it’s a lot better than he was while in the service.”

“I don’t care.”

Shocked by the callousness, Athos stared, and opened his mouth to protest. But her expression made him shut it again, and wait.

“I can’t care. I can’t...feel anything but my own pain. My own memories. Other people are...over there. I would help them if someone attacked them. But that they were in pain or frightened wouldn’t touch me. They broke that in me.”

“The torturers?”

“Yes.” She rolled up a sleeve half way up her forearm. “I haven’t shown anyone this.” On her skin was a crazed pattern of scars and tattoos, the scars raised and red, like from burns. The tattoos were inked into the scars themselves. They must have hurt like hell, even for an enhanced individual. “They cut me, but I healed too fast. They branded me with hot wires, but I still healed. Finally, they cut the scars open and rubbed soot and dirty engine oil into the wounds to leave a permanent mark. This was by way of entertainment when they weren’t doing...other things”

Horrified, Athos couldn’t tear his eyes off the crude tattoos, which he belatedly realised were words, or at least letters, in Cyrillic. He didn’t read much Russian but he recognised a couple of the words as filthy insults. “That’s all over your body?”

She nodded. “I could do nothing, say nothing, to make it stop. They didn’t have questions for me. They just wanted to...break me. And they did.”

“No, they didn’t.”

She shoved her sleeve down. “Yes, they _did_. I’m no use to the military any more. I could never...put myself at risk of that again. I would literally go insane. Am insane.”

“You’re not broken and you’re not insane, Juliette. You’re injured, yes, but recovering. You will survive this.”

“I truly hope not.”

Oh, did he know how that felt. But she didn’t need trite answers. He held his hand out, palm up and resting on the bench, an offer of consolation if she wanted it.

She looked at it for a long time, so long that he felt vaguely ridiculous. But then she put hers palm down on his, and as he slowly, carefully closed his to hold her hand, she didn’t pull away or react violently.

For now, that was all he could offer. His hand, and the hope that a tiny little scrap of existence inside the clinic would beat this injury and continue to live.

After a while, she said, “Elodie.”

“What?”

“Elodie chose the names.”

“She’s never allowed to name anything ever again, and nor is Sylvie. Or my mother,” he added. The pun of ‘Claudette’ might only work in English, but he and Papa were both fluent enough to be pained by it.

“I like the names.”

He gently squeezed her hand. “Then that’s okay. Why don't you drink your tea and then we can find out if the vet is finished?”

Twenty minutes later they went back into the clinic. The receptionist said the vet was just finishing up and would speak to them shortly.

“She survived?” Athos asked, afraid of the answer.

“Oh yes.”

Juliette clenched her fist and looked at him, her eyes wet for the first time since the accident. Athos smiled back. “Tough little ball of fluff.”

The vet asked them to come in a couple of minutes later to talk in private. “She’s still asleep, and we’ll keep her here for a couple of days under sedation. She has broken ribs as I suspected, but we’ve treated the collapsed lung by bleeding the air out of her chest cavity.”

She showed them the injury on an x-ray and explained what she’d done. “We’ll leave the chest tube in until we’re sure the lung has healed up. Then she can go home. The important thing is that she needs to be kept quiet and indoors for a week or so. Unfortunately, the ribs will be very painful for a while. Do you have other animals?”

“Her sister,” Juliette said.

“Then ideally the other kitten should be kept away from this one for a while. I’ll give you a script for pain medication and guidelines to follow. If you follow them, we’ll take a look at her in a couple of weeks, and then again after that just to make sure she’s healing well. Just give her lots of love and quiet rest.”

“Thank you,” Athos said. “Can we see her before we go?”

“Of course.” The vet called for a nurse, and the nurse took them in behind scenes to see Bit. The little cat was fast asleep and wearing a tiny oxygen mask. Her side had been shaved where the tube to bleed the air was stitched in place, and a drip was inserted further down. Athos took a photo to show everyone back at the farm, who would want to know how she was. Juliette petted the kitten very carefully through the bars.

“She’s a pretty girl,” the nurse said. “Strong and healthy apart from this. She’ll be okay.”

“Thank you,” Juliette whispered.

Now the kitten’s condition was known and sorted, Juliette relaxed a tiny bit on the journey home. “Amazing how they get under our skin, isn’t it?” Athos said. She didn’t answer. “Maman can take Fit for a couple of weeks, let you concentrate on making Bit well again. Is that okay?”

“They’re your cats.”

“No, Juliette. They’re yours. They might live at the farm, but you’ve made them yours, and while you’re here, you get to decide what happens to them. So does that suit you?”

“Your mother won’t mind?”

“Doubt it. Or Sylvie will look after her at the farm. She’d have her other sister with her at the house.”

“The house,” Juliette said.

“All right. Um, I know how uncomfortable crowds make you but that was all rather upsetting. Porthos was about to cry, which I’ve seen twice the whole time I've known him.”

“What are you asking?”

“Just...when Bit comes back, some of the others will want to visit. We could set her up in the house, keep her quiet. Would you let us do that?”

“It’s just a cat.”

He risked a glance at her. “We covered that already. But if you don’t want to, I understand.”

“Maybe I can. Let me get used to the idea.”

“Thank you. Porthos is a pretty sensitive soul. People always miss it, because of his size. Also, he’s spent a lifetime building a front. He grew up in the foster system. He learned early on not to show when he was hurt.”

She didn’t comment, but Athos had the impression she was listening, so he kept talking about his brothers all the way back to the farm, his own background, and how d’Artagnan was almost his diametric opposite in terms of temperament. “I have no idea why he loves me. Aramis is much more like him.”

She didn’t speak until Athos reached the road leading to the farm. “Maybe d’Artagnan is like you in one important way. You both collect broken people.”

“Perhaps.” Athos hadn’t thought about it before, but it made sense. “That’s not a bad thing in itself.”

“Not everyone can be fixed.”

“I was an officer for nearly fifteen years, Juliette, just like you. I never gave up on a solder, and none of my people was ever discharged less than honourably.” He drove into the garage, turned off the engine and turned to her. “I was a good officer. I’m a bloody good judge of people, and I'm also jealous enough of what could be a very short life to not want to waste time and energy on a lost cause. You aren’t. Not even close. So I’m not giving up on you. I hope you can forgive me for that.” He put his hand out, palm up.

She accepted it. “I don’t know if I can be grateful yet.”

“No need for that. Just try to go with the flow unless you can’t. You’re wanted here. You have friends. Let that be enough for now.” He squeezed her hand quickly and let go. “I’m hungry. Want to join me for lunch?”

He saw her struggle with, then win the battle. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

He had texted Aramis before they left the clinic to let him know the kitten was okay and they were on their way back. When they emerged from the garage and walked around to the back of the house, they found a huddle of people waiting for them. Elodie walked forward, her arms out, then waited. Juliette hesitated, but as Elodie slowly approached, she let the woman put her arms around her and give her a brief, careful hug.

Athos went to Porthos and hugged him. “So sorry, Athos,” his brother murmured.

“Not your fault, brother. You did what you could. I need to sleep with you tonight.”

“D’Artagnan said the same thing.” At his side, d’Artagnan nodded.

“Can I join you?” Sylvie asked, her expression solemn. Aramis had one hand on her shoulder, one on Porthos’s. Porthos must have broken down after they left, Athos realised.

“Hell, I don’t mind,” Porthos said, a slight smile on his face. He looked past Athos’s shoulder, and Athos turned. Juliette was facing them, looking at Porthos. Athos stepped aside.

Juliette stepped forward, as did Porthos. “Thank you,” she said. “For helping her.”

“I’m sorry. I should have kept an eye out—”

Juliette held up her hand. “It was an accident. They get into everything.”

Pascal came out of the house, with Baudelaire at his heels and Fit in his arms. He walked over and gave the kitten to Juliette. She held Fit in her arms, nuzzling her fur, but didn’t break away from Porthos. After a moment or two, she handed the kitten over to him. Clearly puzzled, Porthos took her, and cradled the little cat carefully, stroking her fur and murmuring nonsense at her.

Juliette could not have found a more elegant way to say she trusted him, and Athos’s heart filled with gratitude.

“Right. We’re starving,” he said. “You’ve all eaten?” He realised the lorry was gone. “Where are the guys?”

“Finished for the day,” Elodie said. “They’ll be back tomorrow. And no, we haven’t had lunch. We were all too upset.”

“But I made a salad and cut up bread,” Aramis said. “So we just need to made sandwiches.”

“Then let’s do that,” Athos said, looking at Juliette. “Okay?” She nodded. “Come on you lot.”

*******************

“I cannot believe we have animals on this farm called Fit Bit,” Athos said, mock glaring at Elodie. Sitting next to her, Juliette almost smiled. “I actually had to sign forms for ‘Bit de la Fère’. My father would have a stroke. What possessed you?”

Elodie didn’t look remotely repentant. “Juliette called the grey one ‘Bit’.”

“I didn’t _name_ her that,” Juliette protested. “They didn’t have names.”

“I know, but it worked. So of course, the other one was ‘Fit’.”

“Naming privileges lost for _life_ ,” Athos said. D’Artagnan grinned at the lot of them.

“What would you have called them?” Sylvie asked. “Seriously, you hate the names we give them, but do you ever suggest one of your own?”

“I named Roger,” he said, sniffing haughtily.

“And you think that’s a great name, do you?” Aramis asked, raising an eyebrow. “You complain about your mother using a punning name in English, but do you know what Roger means in the same language?”

“What does it mean?” Sylvie asked, and when he leaned over and whispered in her ear, giggled like a kid. “Athos!”

“Roger is a perfectly good French name.”

“So’s Claudette,” Aramis said.

“Roger is German,” Juliette said. Everyone looked at her. “Look it up.”

“If we get another dog,” Porthos said, “I’m gonna call it Rolf.”

D’Artagnan groaned. “Is that another pun?” Athos asked.

“Dog from the Muppets,” d’Artagnan explained.

“No, it’s the sound a dog makes,” Porthos insisted. “Rolf, rolf.” Baudelaire, lying in the corner curled around Fit, obliged by barking back at him. Fit yawned and went back to sleep.

“I give up,” Athos said with a dramatic sigh.

“I like Baudelaire’s name,” Pascal said.

“You don’t feel silly calling it when you need him to come?” Athos asked.

“No? There are worse names.”

Sylvie looked at Athos in triumph. “I told you. So there.”

“No more poets. Or puns. Or muppets. I want good, strong, classic names for our residents.”

“Athos, you’re named after a _mountain_ ,” Sylvie protested. “You might want to cut back on making fun of what things are called.”

“It’s a _middle_ name!”

“Still a mountain,” d’Artagnan said.

“Yeah, a mountain without _women_ ,” Sylvie said, glaring at him.

“Traditional family name,” Athos muttered.

“Well, now Fit and Bit are tradition family names,” Aramis said. “They’re in our family, that’s their names and the tradition starts now.” Juliette gave him one of her almost smiles for that.

“I like Rolf,” Pascal offered.

“Fine, fine,” Athos said. “And the chickens can be Cluck, Squawk, Kick and Snick.”

“Nope,” d’Artagnan said. “We already named them. Brigitte, Camille, Coco, and Cosette.”

“We have a _chicken_ named Cosette.”

“I got them off a website,” d’Artagnan admitted. “Do you want to know what the goats are called?”

“You know what? Let that be your little secret, Charles. I don’t think my heart can stand any more of this.” Athos got up and went to the sink to refill the kettle, smiling to himself. Then he heard d’Artagnan whisper the names to Sylvie. He turned around and glared at the pair of them.

“You cannot call our goats ‘Grumpy and ‘Stumpy’!”

Elodie looked at Juliette, before she covered her face and howled with laughter. Juliette really, truly grinned at the sounds her friend was making.

Athos put his hands on his hips and scowled at the assembled troublemakers.

He had rarely felt so pleased with life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you're a fanfiction writer when at 4 am, you're exchanging notes with your friend the vet about the best way to non-fatally harm a little kitten in the most dramatic fashion possible - and she doesn't blink an eyelid at the request. Thanks, Tiggy :)
> 
> I see Athos as a dog person. But I'm prepared to allow him to pet kittens from time to time purely for research purposes :)


	4. Elodie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elodie has news, Juliette has big problems. And Athos has to deal with all of it.
> 
> Beware, details of medical issues and references to Juliette's past torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter grew ENORMOUS so I've had to split it into two, maybe three. I should have made these bits separate stories but I don't want to screw my subscribers.
> 
> Part 2 is nearly there, but I had a realisation last night which will require a bit more writing.

Elodie was the last to arrive for Sunday breakfast. Juliette was not expected, though she might yet turn up. The rest of the residents had already helped themselves to coffee, tea, hot chocolate, croissants, and other pastries, and if Athos did say so himself, there was probably not a finer breakfast to be had within fifty kilometres.

But food was obviously not foremost in Elodie’s mind. She had a bag in her hand, from which she withdrew something the size of a small electric toothbrush. She waved it around. “Who wants to volunteer to be my birth partner?”

“You’re pregnant?” Aramis exclaimed. Ah, then that was a pregnancy test Elodie has just set near the _pain au chocolat_. Athos hoped she’d at least rinsed it. Aramis rose to hug her. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” She smiled at them all as the four other men and one woman murmured variations on “well done” and “Good for you”. “But I need a birthing partner.”

The four brothers turned to Sylvie. “What? Just because I have a vagina? I don’t know the first thing about babies.” Four shamefaced men looked away.

Athos cleared his throat and said to Elodie. “I, uh, rather thought Juliette...?”

“The antenatal classes are group sessions.”

“Oh.” Although Athos was unclear what was involved, he’d volunteer if no one else did.

“I can do it,” Porthos said, to Athos’s surprise. “I’ve delivered three babies, and I’m up to date with advanced first aid.”

She grinned. “Thank you, love, but I don’t need you to _deliver_ the baby. Just coach me through breathing and things.”

“What about your sister?” d’Artagnan asked. “I thought she helped you through the, er um....”

“Insemination, yes. But she’s gone back to London, and Matthieu was happy to donate the er um material, but he says he’s not going to do anything ickier than that.”

“I can still do it,” Porthos insisted. “Unless you don’t want a bloke.”

“I don’t care about that. I’d be delighted if you’d be my birth partner.” She bent and kissed his head. “Thank you. You can tell Juliette what you’ll be doing, so she can be there at the birth if she can manage it.”

“How far along are you?” Aramis asked.

“Two months. I knew before, but I’ve been waiting. There’s still a risk of miscarriage but my doctor thinks it’s all going well, so fingers crossed.”

“And you’re due when?”

“January thirteenth.”

D’Artagnan lifted his coffee. “Here’s to Elodie and baby to be. May they both get through safe and well.”

“Here, here,” Sylvie said. Pascal, next to her, hadn’t said a word, though his face was red. Lesbian DIY pregnancies were clearly outside his experience.

After breakfast, Athos went for a walk with Elodie. The sun was hot, but they both had hats and Elodie insisted she needed the vitamin D, although she was happy to take advantage of the shady trees along the lane. Juliette had not emerged from her cabin, and the kittens were nowhere to be seen, though Baudelaire was sniffing about hopefully. He loped off when he heard Pascal emerge from the house.

“She’s having a bad day,” Elodie murmured once they were clear of the farm yard. “I could hear her calling in the night. She won’t let me help.”

“She will eventually, and you do help. She’s better than she was,” Athos replied just as quietly. To their right, d’Artagnan’s small vineyard had set fruit, though it would be a couple of months before it could be picked. He wasn’t sure if the wine would be drinkable, but Athos had assure him that good wine vinegar was just as useful to him, at least. To the left, he thought he saw his parents on horseback...ah yes, it was them. He waved, and they waved back, though they didn’t deviate from their route.

“But for the moment,” he continued, “is there anything else you need in your house?”

“No, thank you. We built it with a child in mind, remember. Nothing will change for a while, I hope. I need to keep working.”

“At least you won’t need to pay for babysitters,” Athos said. “They’ve been lining up since you announced you were trying.”

“Reality will be different,” she said with a smile.

“We’re looking forward to it. You’ve spoken to Aramis and Juliette about the toxoplasmosis issue, of course.”

“Of course, _Papa_.”

Athos cocked his head to look at her. “Cheek.”

“Just because I have a _vagina_ ,” she said in perfect imitation of Sylvie earlier, then she burst out laughing. “Poor Sylvie. I didn’t even think of her. I thought Aramis might offer.”

So had Athos. “He, uh, might have one or two issues about the whole baby business. But not enough to stop him wanting to see your child when they arrive.”

“I hope not. I was sure what you were building here would be a wonderful environment for a kid, and now you’ve finished so much, I’m even more certain. I feel love in the very stones under my feet.”

Athos felt the same way, although, unlike Elodie, he lived with the people he loved right at hand. Elodie was single...but at the same time, she and Juliette were becoming close. Athos had made no assumptions about Juliette’s sexuality beyond the probability that, like him and his brothers, she was anorgasmic and lacked libido. He didn’t know that for a fact, however. He was _not_ going to ask her or anyone else. It was none of his business.

He thought he would invite himself to his parents for lunch, as he knew he was welcome to do, and after he returned from his walk with Elodie, he knocked on Juliette’s door.

He found her looking pale with eyes puffy from lack of sleep. Bit and Fit twined around her feet. “Would you like to come to lunch at my parents’?” he asked. “We could bring the girls to visit their sister.”

“I’m sorry, Athos. Not today.”

“Do you want me to take the cats anyway?”

She nodded. “I’ll get the carrier.” She really had to be tired to let her constant companions out of her sight.

She returned with the carrier and Athos put the two kittens inside, being careful with Bit’s still heling ribs. “The others will have lunch in the house. Would you like Aramis to bring some food over?”

“Please.”

He put his hand on her arm. “Are you unwell?”

“Just a bad night.” It had taken weeks before she was at a point to admit this kind of thing to anyone, let alone Athos.

“You know Elodie’s news?”

She smiled a little. “Oh yes.”

“Porthos has offered to be her birthing partner.” She raised an eyebrow at that. “I’ll speak to Aramis, and maybe you’d like to go for a ride tomorrow? It’s supposed to be cooler.”

“Maybe. Thanks.”

He nodded and she closed the door. Athos did his best to make contact with Juliette at least once a day. She’d been doing better in some respects. She talked more, and she avoided the others less. But as the walls protecting her injured psyche were chipped away, the slight stresses introduced by increased human contact were enough to kick her memories loose. If this stage went on much longer, and she would need the professional help she had shunned to now. Étienne Lemay would be visiting soon. Athos hoped he or his wife might persuade Juliette to give therapy a chance.

“Athos?” Sylvie hurried across the yard to catch up with him, then kissed his cheek. “Where are you off to?”

“Lunch with my parents. Want to come?”

“Please.” She took his arm and they walked on. “The kittens aren’t on the menu, I hope.”

“I hope not too. Giving Juliette a break, that’s all. Bad night.”

“Poor lamb.”

Something about that phrase tickled the back of his brain. He ignored it. “Yes, unfortunately. Can you hold them for a minute, please?” She took the carrier, and Athos sent a text to Aramis about Juliette’s lunch. He went to retrieve the cats but Sylvie was happy to keep the carrier so he let her. “How do you feel about Elodie’s news?”

“I’m happy for her. How did you expect me to feel?”

“I’m not sure. Pregnancies churn up emotions.”

“How do _you_ feel?” she asked, her intelligent brown eyes boring into him.

“Happy. Sad...no, just wistful. Regretful.”

“So, you do mean ‘sad’,” she said, and he nodded. “For Anne?”

“Yes. For me, too. And you?”

“I would have your child if I could, you know that. But I’m not broody for a kid for the sake of one.” She didn’t seem unhappy, so he believed her without reservation. “The farm is so full of life. New animals, new plants, new cabins, new babies soon. I feel the energy every time I come back.”

“Yes. Especially now.”

“Aramis has a little shrine in his garden, have you seen it?”

“I knew about it,” Athos said. Aramis kept the practice of his faith fairly private, so Athos tried never to intrude without invitation

“It’s beautiful. It’s a little arch covered in vines—hops and clematis and violets around the base—and a cross he made from live willow, as if God touched the dead wood and metal and made it blossom. To me it’s a shrine to nature. I don’t say that to him though.”

“He wouldn’t be offended. Aramis isn’t narrow-minded His concept of God is a generous one. It gives him comfort and helps him be a better man, or so he says.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said. They entered the gates of the estate and headed up the drive. “His faith is his explanation, but not the reason.”

“I agree. But then I say my faith in you and my brothers makes me a better person, and he would argue it’s just an explanation too. He’d be wrong.”

“Oh, but that’s different,” she said, her smile making her cheeks dimple. “Everyone knows a good woman improves a man no end.”

“Quite true,” he said, grinning back at her. “I hope they’re back. They were riding out earlier.”

That brain tickle was back.

HIs mother, still in her riding clothes, greeted them as they walked in the front door. “Hello, darling, Sylvie. And the kittens too?”

Athos explained. “Their companion is off colour. Bad night’s sleep.”

_Maman_ frowned. “Are you sure that’s all it is, dear? It’s not the start of—”

Athos’s brain tickle resolved into sudden, awful realisation. “Oedema. Oh God. I didn’t think it could be because she’s female.” He pulled out his phone and called Aramis. “Aramis, go to Juliette and stay with her. She could be on the verge of pulmonary oedema.”

“But she’s—”

“Just do it. I’m coming back.”

He touched Sylvie’s shoulder. “Please stay here. _Maman_ , can you come to the farm? Take your car?”

“Go fetch it, Athos, I’ll get my bag.”

Papa was outside, walking back from the stables. “Hello, Athos...what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I hope. I need to borrow the car.”

His father didn’t waste his time asking for an explanation, and told him, “Go, go.”

“Sylvie’s inside the house with the cats,” Athos yelled over his shoulder.

He got into the car, started it and drove it around to the front of the house. His mother was just coming down the stairs. “Her immune system’s not supposed to be anywhere near breaking down,” he said as he drove off. “They’re a lot more stable than we are.”

“Immune systems are funny things, dear. And Juliette’s just been through a horrific ordeal.”

His phone rang. He pulled it out and passed it to his mother. “ _Maman_ , could you—”

She answered and listened. “It’s Aramis. Juliette’s collapsed, and he’s called SAMU. We’re on our way, Aramis,” she told him.

Driving from the house to the farm took only a minute. He drove into the courtyard and pulled up outside the cabins. His mother jumped out, walked quickly to Juliette’s cabin and went in. D’Artagnan stood on watch outside. “Porthos and Pascal are watching for SAMU,” he told Athos. “We fetched the oxygen.”

“Good. Thanks,” he said, patting d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “Wait here.” He went inside.

The cabin was not big enough for five people, even if one of them was on the couch. Juliette was sitting up, apparently barely conscious, with an oxygen mask over her face. Athos’s mother was listening to her chest.

“ _Maman_?” Athos said.

“Definitely oedema. No need to panic,” she said calmly, unhooking her stethoscope. “You know the routine. Hospital, positive pressure, medication. Elodie, Athos—Aramis and I will handle this. Decide who’s going up to the hospital behind the ambulance, outside.”

Elodie bit her lip. “Come on,” Athos said encouragingly. “She’s in good hands.”

He led her outside. “What’s happening?” she demanded. “She was just tired. I would have known if she was sick...wouldn’t I?”

_Damn it._ She didn’t know the truth about the enhancement programme or the side effects, and he had no authorisation to tell her. She believed he and his brothers were suffering lingering physical and psychological injuries incurred in battle, which covered a multitude of sins. 

“Right now, we need to concentrate on her. Charles, I’ll go up to the hospital—”

“I want to go too,” Elodie said, grabbing his arm.

Paramedics with a gurney were heading their way, with Porthos on their heels. Athos pointed to the cabin, keeping out of their way. Then he turned to Elodie. “She won’t be in a fit state to talk to you for a while. I’ve dealt with this a number of times, and I have her power of attorney. Trust me.”

“But—”

“Elodie.”  D’Artagnan came over to her. “Athos knows what he’s doing. You can visit her later, I swear.”

She stared at him, and found reassurance in d’Artagnan calm confidence. “All right.”

Athos patted her shoulder. “Thank you. Charles, call Lemay, would you? Tell him my mother is covering us, so not to rush down, but he’ll want to know.”

“Of course. Porthos, could you take Elodie to the house? Maybe you guys should get some lunch.”

Porthos put his arm around Elodie. “Sure.” He led her away without any protest.

Once they had gone, d’Artagnan moved closer to Athos, and spoke quietly. “How is Juliet going to react when she wakes up and she’s surrounded by strangers with drugs going into her?”

“Badly. I’ll still go up first, but if Aramis could bring Elodie and maybe Pascal up there later when she's stable, they might be able to keep her calm.”

“Treville needs to know.”

“I’ll call him. Stay here, confirm where they’re taking her. I’ll fetch the paperwork. Call Lemay.”

He had the power of attorney paperwork in the little office they’d set up. He heard Porthos in the kitchen, trying to reassure Elodie without telling her anything classified—not an easy task. He slipped out of the house without either of them seeing him.

Treville said he would come down from Paris immediately. There were national security issues with putting a soldier like Juliette under sedation, in addition to the medical problems they could not be completely frank about.

That made explaining Juliette’s scars and tattoos somewhat difficult when Athos spoke to the doctor in charge of her treatment in the emergency room. “I can’t tell you where or why, but four months ago, she was held captive for weeks, repeatedly raped and abused, and these injuries were part of it.” The horrified medic stared at him, apparently lost for words. “Her oedema is related to her military service. Dr Étienne Lemay will be in touch, but for now, she just needs your normal protocol.”

She snapped out of her shock. “I need to speak to him.” Athos called Lemay and handed her the phone so she could do that. She didn’t like what she heard, but in the end, agreed to do what Athos had suggested.

Juliette was transferred to a single bed room, and a police officer was stationed outside, courtesy of Treville kicking over a hornet’s nest further up the line. Athos sat by Juliette’s bed. Her normal long-sleeved heavy clothes had been removed, and the scars on her arms and across the top of her chest stood out in livid contrast to her pale skin. That she had endured all she had and yet remained somewhat sane still amazed him.

He sat with her for over an hour, and though he would not abandon her, it was decidedly dull. Until it wasn’t.

One minute she was out cold, the next minute the heart monitor went nuts as she clawed at the CPAP mask and the leads on her chest. Athos leapt up to hold her hands, struggling to control her since she was stronger than him. “Juliette. Juliette. Major Grimaud!”

That shocked her enough to look at him. “Calm down. You’re in hospital. You’re suffering from pulmonary oedema. It’s under control, and you’re okay. It’s a side effect of the enhancements.”

A nurse came running in. “She’s okay,” Athos said, keeping the man away from Juliette. “Just a little panic. Please leave.”

“I need—”

“Please leave, I said. No male attendants. Ask the doctor and read her notes.”

For a moment Athos thought he would have to fight the guy, but the nurse turned and walked out.

“Sorry about that,” Athos said. Juliette had gone limp again, but her eyes were open. “Are you in pain?”

She shook her head. “Why did you bother?” she whispered harshly behind the mask.

“Saving you? Because that’s what I do when a fellow soldier is injured.” She turned her head. “Elodie is ready to come up when you’re ready. I told her to wait a bit until you stabilised.”

“No. I don’t want her to see.”

“The scars?” Her lack of answer was his answer. “She won’t care.”

She turned to look at him. “ _I_ care.”

“All right, that’s fair enough. You should be able to leave tomorrow. I’ll stay up here tonight. Dr Lemay will be down at some point. This is probably a good sign. You might be able to start the gene therapy in earnest.”

“No.”

“Why?”

She ignored his question. She couldn’t roll over because of the CPAP equipment but she turned her head right away from him, making it clear his presence was unwelcome.

He went outside to make a couple of calls. The first was to Aramis, to tell him her status and requests. “Thoughts?” he asked.

“Do what she asks. There’s nothing to be gained by forcing her to accept treatment. Lemay can still talk to her. There’s time, Athos. She won’t die tonight.”

“She could have done. I was so stupid. I’ve seen exactly that look on all your faces, and I missed it because I assumed...which a good officer shouldn’t.”

“Well, now you know,” Aramis said, and Athos was grateful for him not dismissing Athos’s words. “The prolonged physical abuse is the reason?”

“Along with prolonged psychological stress. I don’t know what we can do to ease that for her, beyond what we’ve done.”

“Give her a chance to help herself. She’s far from weak, and really not stupid.”

“What if she refuses not just the gene therapy, but any treatment when there’s another attack?”

“She needs a reason to live. You know that more than anyone, Athos.”

“I’ve tried—”

“Brother, it might not be in your hands to grant it. There are other people who can help.”

Athos nodded, even though Aramis couldn’t see. “She doesn’t want Elodie to see her scars. Any chance you could see if you can find any long-sleeved, lightweight shirts that open down the front that she can borrow, and then bring them up? Don't go into her cabin. Sylvie might have a couple, or men’s shirts will do.”

“Sure. Charles might come up instead of me, or Sylvie, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Sylvie for preference. I’ve just tossed one male nurse out of the room. I don’t want to push her tolerance with more than one man hanging around.”

He heard Aramis scratching his beard. “Perhaps Elodie could come up with the clothes, and you can tell Juliette she’s there. Give her the choice after she has covering.”

“If you think it’s wise. Just send them on up soon, whoever it is.”

Then he called Sylvie. “Hi love, sorry to dump the cats on you and run.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Your father explained, and your mother came back and we had lunch. The kittens enjoyed the visit. I’m back home now. How is she?”

“Stable, and on the mend. If you could watch the cats for another couple of days, that’d be good. Juliette will be fairly tired when she comes home.”

“So I gathered. Um, this is what you boys went through, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I can’t give you exact particulars right now, but you know enough to know why I can’t. I probably won’t be back tonight, so make sure the others look after you.”

“Yes, _Papa_. Love you.”

“Me too.”

He turned around and found Colonel Treville watching him and waiting for him to be done. “Sir, thanks for coming.”

“How is she?”

“Awake, hostile to the intervention, visitors and further therapy.”

Treville grimaced. “That sounds promising.”

“I thought she was doing better. She’s allowing more personal contact, interacting voluntarily. Now she’s back to the way she was when you first brought her here.”

Treville nodded. “I’m not surprised. You’ve done great things, Athos, but she’s very damaged, far more than any soldier I can remember. Even you. You were a ball of sunshine and kittens compared to her.”

Athos raised both eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really. So we just keep going, but I have two suggestions—a specialist psychotherapist comes to talk to her either here or the farm, and that one of her colleagues, Emilie Duras, comes to visit. They were somewhat close during the clinical phase of the programme, and since she’s a fellow soldier and officer, might have a way in.”

“Worth a try. Are you going to see her?”

“I didn’t come all the way from Paris to give you information I could pass on by phone.”

Athos ignored Treville’s touchiness. It meant he was worried, and for the same reason Athos was.

He went back into Juliette’s room. “Colonel Treville is here.”

She pushed the mask off her face. “Tell him to go away.”

“I can’t do that, Juliette. He’s your superior officer, and the one responsible for your care.”

She put the mask back and didn’t respond. He sighed, went to the door and signalled to Treville. The colonel walked in and sat down. “Good afternoon, major. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

No reaction. “Juliette,” Athos murmured. “Still your superior officer.”

“Good afternoon, _sir_ ,” she said, taking the mask off and turning to glare at them both. She pulled the sheets up around herself. “I’m not up to questioning.”

“I’m sure. I came to see how you were, and to make sure national security isn’t compromised. You’ll remain under guard for that reason, just to stop any snooping, but you’ll be free to return to the Garrison when you’re fit. When that happens, I want your cooperation with Dr Lemay, and any other medical personnel we send along to help you.”

“I don’t want to be treated.”

“Not actually your choice, you realise. You belong to France so long as you’re in the military, and your welfare is my responsibility.”

“Then you’ll have to throw me in the stockade, sir. I refuse.” She shoved the CPAP mask away and it fell off the side of the bed. Athos retrieved it and gave her a look, which she ignored.

“Any particular reason?”

“I’ve paid enough of a price for these experiments. I’ve paid enough of a price for France. Now I just want to die.”

Athos inhaled in shock, but Treville continued to regard Juliette quite calmly. “Is it possible that you aren’t in your right mind and therefore unable to make that decision?” He held up his hand. “Before you snap at me, remember you’re suffering from depression and PTSD and other mental health issues. If one of your soldiers suffering in that way, said what you just said, would you accept it?”

She looked away.

“Athos? What about you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. If one of my people had a broken leg and insisted they were fit to go on a fifteen-kilometre walk, I’d say the same—you’re not competent to make that decision.”

She scowled at them both, but didn’t reply. Her breathing was becoming laboured again. Athos picked up the oxygen mask. “Please put that on. Drowning on your own fluids is a painful and undignified death, and once you pass out, I _will_ instruct the nurses to recommence treatment.”

She snatched the thing back from him and shoved it on her face, smacking his hand away as he tried to help her with it.

“Athos, outside,” Treville said, rising to his feet. He walked down the corridor far enough away that Juliette’s enhanced hearing couldn’t follow their conversation. “What do you suggest? By law, I have the right and the duty to force treatment on her, including anti-depressants and whatever else will help. But the trauma that will cause would be akin to putting her back with her torturers. I think I need to take her back to a military medical facility.”

“But that will traumatise her too.” Athos didn’t believe Juliette wanted to die. The woman knew how to kill people, including herself, and they didn’t exactly hide knives from her. “Medicalising her situation is what’s upsetting her. She’s best when she’s the one in charge, doing the helping. You should see her with her cats.”

“I don’t think cats are going to be answer now.”

“No,” Athos regretfully agreed. “She’s made friends with Elodie, but Elodie hasn’t got the requisite security clearance to be told the full facts.”

“Would that make a difference? How much does she know?”

“That Juliette is suffering physical and emotional trauma from being held prisoner and tortured. But she doesn’t know about the enhancements, or the consequences.”

Treville pursed his lips. “The minister wanted the lid jammed down tight on that. I don’t think I can get approval for a civilian to gain clearance to be told the truth.”

“But if a civilian who knew about them anyway—say, my mother—were to tell Elodie, we wouldn’t have to know about that. The minister doesn’t know that _Maman_ knows, and what he doesn’t know—”

“Won’t kill the bastard.” Treville smiled evilly. “Of course, I couldn’t _possibly_....”

Athos smirked back. “Of course not.”

He made a discreet call, of which Treville naturally and officially knew nothing, and went back to Juliette’s room. Treville went off to buy coffee and wait for Elodie to arrive, ostensibly just to deliver the shirts. Juliette ignored him for a bit—she was obviously not as well as she wanted to be, though with every passing minute she improved—but after an hour, she got fed up of him sitting there calmly reading a book on his phone.

“Why are you here?”

“Me? I’m just here to protect the civilians from you, and you from the civilians.”

“Where’s the colonel?”

“Off doing colonel things.” He relished the irritation in her eyes. Far better than anger—or despair.

“I want you to leave.”

“I really can’t,” he said truthfully. “If someone walks in here and triggers a panic attack, you could kill them, even sick as you are.” She muttered something even he couldn’t hear properly, but he suspected it cast aspersions upon his parentage.

A text arrived from Treville. _They’re here_

He texted back. _Send them up_

A couple of minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Athos opened it, smiled at the newcomer, and let her in. Elodie flew to Juliette’s side, and without waiting for permission, flung her arms around Juliette who was either too shocked or too pleased to protest. Athos listened for a few seconds, then made a discreet exit.  He found Treville where he’d left him, only now he was talking to Athos’s mother and Aramis.

Athos put his arms around his mother. “Thank you, _Maman_ ,” he murmured.

“For what? I did nothing,” she said, then pulled back and winked at him.

“Indeed not,” Treville said with heavy emphasis.

“I came to offer my services as backup,” Aramis said. “If you’re really intending to stay all night.”

“I am,” Athos, said, “and thank you.”

“Claire, any chance of a room for the night?” Treville asked Athos’s mother.

“Always, Jean. But won’t you be here for a while?”

“No, unfortunately. Juliette isn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with me, so we’ll push the ‘softly softly’ approach for now. May I offer you a lift back home?”

“Yes, I think so. I did want to say hello to Juliette but....”

She looked at Athos, who shook his head. “She’s already overwhelmed and overburdened with company.”

“Then I’ll see her when she comes out.” She kissed Athos’s cheek. “Give her my love.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Come on, Jean. The youngsters have it in hand.”

Aramis smiled at her remark as the two walked away, then turned to Athos. “So, want to grab something to eat while you tell me what’s happening?”

********************

Aramis listened sympathetically as Athos described the issues, then said, “She definitely needs help to sort through the mess in her head, same as I did. But it’s not the whole answer and if she doesn’t want to cooperate, therapy will be useless.”

“I’m racking my brains to know what else to do. This isn’t my _forte_.”

Aramis laughed at him. “My friend, the only person you can’t help is yourself. You’re _amazing_ at helping others.”

“Unlikely. What do you suggest?”

“Keep her alive, keep going. Taking her away again will do immense harm. She’s built a nest here, and it gives her a measure of hope and security. Same as it has for us. Such a shame she and Sylvie don’t hit it off. Sylvie is a very healing person.”

Athos smiled at the thought of his girlfriend. “She is. Perhaps that’s why Juliette resists her.” He finished his coffee and set the cup down. “Anyway, one of us needs to sit with her tonight for the safety of all concerned. Elodie shouldn’t stay much longer because Juliette is still unwell. If you take her back and get some sleep, you could take over from me say around two am?”

“I can come sooner.”

“No, I’m fine. Then I’ll come back in the morning to pick her up if she’s fit to be released, which she should be, given our record.”

“Let’s give Elodie more time, though.”

“Of course. Now tell me about your orange trees, and if can I expect lemons this year or not.”

Aramis lifted his eyes to heaven. “Only if you let me vent about the aphids first.”

Athos grinned, and put his chin on his hand. “Do tell me about your aphids, Aramis.”

********************

Elodie and Aramis left at four. Juliette was asleep, her colour better, and the doctor on duty assured Athos she was doing well. She woke a couple of times from nightmares, but went back to sleep without Athos having to do a thing.

Aramis relieved him at two in the morning, as planned, and Athos was only too happy to return home. He discovered d’Artagnan and Sylvie curled around Porthos in Porthos’s bed, so he climbed in behind d’Artagnan, and promptly fell asleep.

When he woke, d’Artagnan and Sylvie were wrapped around him, and Porthos was nowhere to be seen. Athos reached for his phone and, seeing it was already eight, groaned, and tried to move, only to find his companions increased their grip on him. “I have to get up,” he said, gently trying to extricate himself.

D’Artagnan kissed his ear. “No need. Porthos and Elodie have gone to relieve Aramis and to bring Juliette home.”

Athos relaxed. “Ah. You planned this.”

Sylvie kissed him. “We did. So you get to sleep in, though I’ll need to get up and go to work soon.”

Athos pouted a little. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Sorry, darling. I have to earn my keep.” She leaned over him, and spent a bit more time kissing him this time. Athos tried to grab her and keep her in bed, but she wriggled free. “Uh uh. Charles, he’s all yours. Make him behave.”

“Yes, _madame_.” That earned him a kiss too as she climbed out of bed. “Have a good day, Sylvie.”

“You too. Love you both.”

Athos never slept this late, but circumstances were unusual. He gladly kipped for another hour in d’Artagnan’s arms, but then his conscience got the better of him. D’Artagnan sighed, giving up the battle to keep him in bed. “I’ll make breakfast while you shower.”

Athos touched his forehead to d’Artagnan’s. “Thank you.”

He had text messages from Treville, Aramis, and Porthos, all more or less saying the same thing—Juliette was coming out of hospital that morning. “Who’s minding the cats?” he asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

D’Artagnan set coffee and toast in front of him. “Pascal, of course.”

“Thanks.” D’Artagnan sat down opposite him. Athos knew him well enough to know when his lover was concerned. “What?”

“Do we know what we’re doing?”

“Why do you ask?”

“We set up this farm to help fellow service people. But none of us are psychologists or even trained in helping those with PTSD.”

“Treville knows that. The agreement was just for peaceful and safe accommodation. He and his team are supposed to provide the medical stuff.”

“And yet Juliette’s been here for months and no one’s come near her until now, and as soon as Treville does, he’s threatening to take her away again. It’s all a bit too much like how we were treated.”

Athos regarded his companion. D’Artagnan constantly surprised him with how deeply he thought about things. “So we should have pushed for help?”

“I dunno. But having someone competent assess what we’re doing would be nice. I don’t want to lose Juliette. I don’t want to lose any of our brothers or sisters.”

Athos nodded and sipped his coffee. “Juliette was always reckoned not to be ready for treatment.”

“What if they were wrong?”

“I’ll talk to Treville later today. You’re quite right. We’ve been winging it and that’s too dangerous with someone like Juliette.” He reached across the table and took d’Artagnan’s hand. “Thank you.”

“It’s what we do, love.” He squeezed Athos’s fingers, knocked back his coffee and picked up his toast. “I have to go. The goats wait for no man.”

“I know my place in the hierarchy of your affections.”

D’Artagnan grinned as he shook his head. “You know where to find me.”

Athos ate his breakfast in unusual solitude, then tidied up. The others would be back soon.

He had time to check the water and feed for the horses, and whether Pascal was managing the various animals he was now in charge of. Athos was taking the eggs Pascal had collected back to the house when he heard the car, and by the time he’d set the eggs in the pantry, Porthos had parked in the garage.

Athos went out to greet the four of them. Juliette was on Elodie’s arm, looking frail, but not miserable. She wore a long-sleeved shirt of Porthos’s, and her usual jeans. “How are you?” Athos asked, offering to take her other arm. She refused.

“I’m fine. Just need to sit.”

“Have you eaten? What about the rest of you?”

“I wouldn’t say no to coffee,” Aramis said, cheerful though understandably weary.

“Same,” Porthos said.

“Coming up.” Athos looked at the women. “Food and coffee and tea in the kitchen when you’re ready, if you want it.”

“In a few minutes,” Elodie said. Her expression wasn’t as cheerful as the others, not even as much as Juliette’s. Something had obviously happened. Or hadn’t happened.

“Fine. See you then.

Porthos and Aramis followed him back into the house. Athos quickly got the kettle going. “Toast? Pastries? Yoghurt?”

“Anything,” Aramis said. “I’m going to eat, then nap.”

“Toast is good,” Porthos said. “Skipped breakfast.”

Athos texted Treville to tell him the wanderers were home. “So, how did it go?” he asked as he busied himself getting food together for his brothers.

“No trouble,” Aramis said. “At least, not after Elodie arrived. Juliette didn’t want me hanging around in her room when she woke up, which I suppose isn’t surprising.”

“No attempt to prevent treatment?”

“None.”

“She kicked me out too,” Porthos said. “Once Elodie arrived, she didn’t need anyone else.”

“Sorry, my friend,” Athos said.

“Nah, it’s fine. Them two are like us four, I figure. Us five if we count Sylvie.”

“You think that closeness will help?” Athos asked Aramis.

“Can’t hurt.” Aramis put his finger to his lips. “On their way.”

Athos’s phone buzzed. “So is Treville,” he said when he checked it. “And Lemay is expected this afternoon.”

“Full house. With additional fireworks?” Aramis asked.

“Very possibly.” Athos made a pot of coffee and put another kettle of water on to boil for tea.

Juliette and Elodie came in, Elodie still wearing that blank, sad-eyed expression. Athos gave her a hug. “Hungry?”

“Not much. Toast is fine.”

“Juliette?”

“Same.”

For a few minutes, all was peaceful and polite as people munched toast or sipped their preferred caffeine. Aramis excused himself to go to bed, and Porthos muttered “horses”, ignoring Athos telling him he’d already dealt with them. Porthos loved Roger and Chayse with an intensity which amazed Athos. Porthos was an urban child, unfamiliar with the countryside, but the first time he’d ridden Roger, he and the stallion had bonded, and the bond remained strong. Athos was wondering if he could justify the cost of another horse, as well as keeping Chayse’s foal. It bore serious consideration.

He was left alone with the women. “Well, does life look more appealing in the bright light of day, Juliette?”

“Tactful, Athos,” Elodie muttered.

“No need for tact,” Juliette said. “The answer is yes, but I’m still not going to have the gene therapy.”

Elodie’s mouth tightened. Clearly this was the issue making her miserable. “All right,” Athos said. “I don’t think Treville, who’s on his way over, can or will force you to do that. He _can_ prevent you being stupidly suicidal short of that, as you well know.”

She had the grace to look ashamed. “I’m sorry about that.”

He waved it away. “You were upset, and I've been there myself. More than once, actually, and I didn’t have your excuse. Just make me two promises. Listen to Doctor Lemay when he comes down, and pay attention to the time frame. That’s one. The second is that you’ll at least meet a psychologist to talk about possible treatment options.”

She tensed up immediately. “I said I didn’t—”

“Juliette, please. I’m your friend, and on your side. I wouldn’t ask this if I didn’t think it would help. Charles pointed it out to me. We’re bumbling around in the dark when it comes to you. All I want to know is that what we’re doing here is helping you, and to know if more help would make your life more bearable.”

“It’ll be a military therapist. I don’t trust them not to push.”

Athos nodded. “Yes, I know the feeling. But Treville will know people who can help, who won’t. Just...talk to one? Can you promise me those two things? Lemay and the therapist.”

Elodie put her hand on Juliette’s arm. “Please, Juliette.”

Juliette frowned at her friend. “I don’t appreciate manipulation by either of you.”

Elodie moved her hand away, her expression hurt. “Were you raised by wolves, Major Grimaud?” Athos said, his tone sharpened by his outrage. “By all means, spit in my face if you must, but Elodie doesn’t deserve it for giving a damn about you.”

Juliette got up and walked out. Elodie started to follow, but sat back down, her hands in her lap. “I made it worse.”

Athos sat and put his arm around her shoulders. “No, dear girl. How are you doing other than this? We’ve been rude, not asking.”

She wiped at her eyes. “No, no, Porthos did and Aramis did, and you had...you know. I’m fine. A little nausea, that’s all. Athos, I want her to be there when the baby’s born and for the rest of my child’s life. Is that selfish?”

“Not at all. I don’t know how much my mother told you, but the gene therapy is not...predictable. And Lemay honestly doesn’t know how long it will work, or how well, at least in the four of us. It’s not one or two injections and then we’re back to normal. We’re not, and never will be.”

Elodie nodded. “She mentioned a bit about that. It makes me want to cry, thinking of you all...not...being.” She hung her head.

Athos squeezed her shoulders. “We’ve cried plenty of tears over that ourselves. It was particularly hard on Charles, being so much younger.”

“Juliette’s not old. She’s older than me but not old old.”

“Like Aramis and me, you mean.” She smiled a little. “It’s her choice. If she’s sure in her own mind and in her right mind, then who are we to argue?”

“She’s not in her right mind.”

“Not entirely, no. Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much.”

He hugged her again. “Then why don’t you take a nap? You have to work today?”

“Only emails and stuff I can do here. A nap would be good.”

“Come back for lunch, whenever you’re up. Let Juliette think for a bit. This is a big change for her.”

“Yes, of course. Sorry to be pathetic.”

“You are not.”

She got up. “Thanks, Athos.”

What for, he nearly asked. If Juliette wouldn’t even speak to a therapist or Lemay, then all they were doing was delaying the inevitable. And while there was some merit to that, Athos hadn’t thought he was running a hospice. He wanted people to live with joy, not die without care.

The back door opened and closed. He looked up and found d’Artagnan looking back. “What the hell happened?” D’Artagnan closed the gap between them and took Elodie’s abandoned chair. “You look miserable.”

“Indulging a regrettable habit of self-pity. Do not encourage me.”

“I’m not,” d’Artagnan said, kissing his hair. “I just saw Juliette going into Elodie’s cabin. Everything all right there?”

It was like the clouds had parted. “They might just be. What did you come in for?”

“Missed you.” Athos snorted sceptically. “Wanted a cold drink. It’s bloody hot out there.”

“It is.” He got up and fetched the jug from the fridge and poured d’Artagnan a long glass of chilled water. “I want to run away. But we have incoming.”

“Run away anyway. Let them chase you.”

Athos admired d’Artagnan’s long neck as he swallowed the water. “Do not tempt me, Charles. I might take you up on it. No, seriously, don’t,” he added as the man got a familiar devilish glint in his eyes. “I have to be responsible. I hate that.”

“Hmmm. But you _are_ Papa.”

“I thought I was den mother.”

“You’re both.”

“Sounds like I’m the excuse for the rest of you to be _ir-_ responsible.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “You’ve just worked it out.”

“Shoo, brat. I have to talk to Treville and I doubt there’s enough coffee in France to deal with this conversation.” But he let d’Artagnan give him a long hug and a kiss before he went back outside. Better than coffee for his heart.

********************

After the darkest expectations, the meetings with Treville and later that day, with Lemay, were anticlimactic. Treville was unsurprised by Juliette’s unchanged stance, and adamant that what the farm was doing was _exactly_ what he and the best psychologists he had at his disposal wanted for the worst cases of PTSD and trauma. “Does d’Artagnan really think I would send superpowered killers down here if it wasn’t?”

“He...we...are just concerned about oversight, and perhaps a little advice from those psychologists would be nice.”

“No need. You’re all naturals. But,” he added as Athos opened his mouth, “I’ll send you the number of a doctor who could help Juliette. If you can get Juliette to talk to her, well and good. Forcing her won’t work. My only option if she remains untreated and becomes unstable is to lock her up.”

“No, we can’t—”

Treville shook his head. “We really can’t. And I won’t. But I won’t have to because I have every faith in you, Major de la Fère.”

Athos hated being called by his rank. He had left “Major de la Fère” behind a long time ago now. “I hope it’s justified.”

Treville had given him an annoyingly smug look for that remark.

Talking to Étienne Lemay was rather restful by comparison. He and the brothers had become good friends over the last three years, and his wife Constance was even more beloved. She wasn’t with him this time, because she was preparing to defend her PhD thesis. “I don’t plan to spend a lot of time here,” he said after Athos offered him tea.” I just want blood and DNA samples, some base readings if she’ll let me take them, and to administer a test dose of the therapy if permitted. I want a snapshot of her current situation.”

“She’ll fight you.”

“I’m prepared for that,” Lemay said peacefully. “Athos, don’t you remember how shell-shocked you all were when you had the news about your condition? Juliette is still working through that. Before it was this distant, possibly unlikely prospect. Now it’s fact. But we have time.”

“Can you fix her?”

“I think so. She’s the first to show deterioration and I’d like to start tests immediately. But we’ll manage if she doesn’t.”

“I and the others will take it very badly if she dies earlier than she needs to, Étienne.”

Lemay smiled. “I imagine. As will Constance and I. Don’t worry, Athos. The survival instinct is very powerful in most people, and so is the instinct to protect in soldiers.”

“You’ll talk to her?”

“Of course.” He leaned forward. “You worry too much, my friend.”

“You’ve _met_ the inmates, haven’t you?”

Lemay laughed. “Yes, I have.”

Athos went to Juliette’s cabin to invite her to the house for tea and cake. “Just to talk,” he said.

“All right.” Her acquiescence surprised him, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She brought Fit with her, perhaps to keep her calm. That was fine with him.

Lemay exclaimed over the kitten. “Oh, she’s beautiful,” he said, without reaching out to touch the cat. “Constance wants a cat so badly, but we’re in and out of the house so much and it wouldn’t be kind.”

“They need company,” Juliette agreed.

Athos stayed quiet, putting out the refreshments, while Lemay talked about Constance and her research, and only gradually moving the conversation onto Juliette’s situation. “We haven’t had a chance to see if the therapy works in you women yet. Your immune systems are far too strong.”

She glanced down at her wrist, bared by the way she held Fit. “I would have died from infection if they hadn’t been.”

“Yes,” Lemay said quietly. Athos poured their tea and held his breath. “Even now, I suspect this attack is going to be an isolated situation for at least another year, if not two. If it’s not, it would give us a head start on helping all five of you.”

“I don’t want anyone playing with my body any more. They’ve polluted me enough. I wanted to die while I was held. I should have died with everything they did to me. But my body wouldn’t let me escape.” She buried her face in Fit’s fur.

“The original scientists who discovered the way to enhance the human body presented it as a way to keep soldiers healthier, safer. The military minds saw it as a way to make weapons out of their people. No one bothered to ask what would happen if that weapon was turned on its owner.”

She looked up at Lemay. “No, they didn’t.”

“The purpose of the therapy is to remove some of those abilities—the ones which kept you alive, are the ones which could have killed Athos and his brothers, and which we think will kill you and your sisters. So, in a way, it would be a way of unpolluting your body, taking away the damage.”

“Too late.”

“Have some cake,” Athos murmured, hinting that Lemay might want to give her a chance to think.

Bit came in through the pet door then, sensing her sister was somewhere having cuddles that she wasn’t. She jumped up onto Athos’s lap, and he happily accommodated her demands for affection. “What happened?” Lemay said, noting the shorter fur on her left side.

“An accident involving a big swinging piece of timber and a tiny kitten.”

“Ouch.”

“Nearly back to new, isn’t she?” Athos said to Juliette.

“She’s still a little tender on that side. Maybe she always will be. I just work around her problem.”

“SOP on this farm,” he said with a smile. Bit jumped down and went exploring. Fit insisted on joining her.

Lemay didn’t mention the gene therapy again, or ask to take samples and readings. Athos understood why. Juliette needed time to think, and pushing was the worst thing they could do now.

With afternoon tea finished, Lemay left for Paris. Treville departed not long after. Juliette said she wanted to go for a gentle run, which Athos took as her saying she understood the risks notwithstanding her rejection of further treatment.

He used her absence as a chance to speak to Elodie in private. He found her in Aramis’s garden, helping him weed. “I thought you had work to do.”

“I am working,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “I’ve been good, _Papa_.” Aramis grinned at that remark.

“I doubt that,” Athos said. “How are things between you and Juliette?”

“She apologised. I tried to convince her to change her mind. Um...she won’t.”

“Not yet. So stop pushing. Lemay talked to her. She has all the facts. Let her think.”

“Athos, she’s suicidal.”

“Not all the time.” That was Aramis coming over to join them. He sat on the bench to the side of the rows of herbs. “She reacts to extreme distress and pain with a wish to end it all. But most of the time, she’s not thinking actively along those lines. I don’t think she’d take positive action to hurt herself, but she is tempted to do so passively.”

Elodie stared in surprise at Athos’s brother. “I’ve, uh, had more than enough reason to understand the mind-set,” Aramis said. Athos went over and sat on the ground by his knee, leaning against it.

“But if she doesn’t get the treatment, she’ll die,” Elodie said.

“Maybe,” Athos said. “Maybe not. Lemay doesn’t know. With the men, it was as certain as medicine gets, which is not absolute. The women are different. You’re frightened for your friend. You’re frightened of losing her. But she needs to live because she loves living, not out of fear of dying. So help her to love life.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes, you do,” Aramis said. “You’re a very positive person. You believe in the joy of living enough to create a new life. You build things, you make beauty. You seek out loveliness. Let her see you doing that.”

She gave them a twisted smile. “You guys are so nice.”

Athos snorted. “Hardly.”

“You have your moments,” Aramis said, ruffling his hair. “So does Porthos. Charles, definitely.”

“You too,” Elodie insisted. “Sometimes,” she added with a wicked grin.

“Indeed,” Athos said. He climbed to his feet. “Now, it must be time for afternoon tea, second shift. Charles? Porthos?” He only had to raise his voice a little, knowing they would hear him. “Find Pascal and tell him I made cake for him.”

“How come you never make me cake?” Aramis said, clapping him on the shoulder and following him into the house, Elodie at his side.

“Every cake is yours, that’s why. You are the cake master.” Elodie giggled so hard she had to hang onto the door jamb to stay upright.

********************

July became August, and the farm baked in the heat. Work happened in the early hours of the morning, and in the late evening, and the rest of the time, the residents stuck to the house, the shade of the fruit trees, or the cool store cum dairy. D’Artagnan and Porthos were kept busy with their volunteer firefighter duties as well as the animals and vineyard. Athos, Pascal and Elodie made frequent use of his parents’ pool. Juliette refused until Elodie found a range of sun-protecting, full body lycra swimwear online, and Athos never spent money more happily on purchasing two pairs for their scarred resident to wear.

Elodie also solved the problem of Juliette not wanting to expose her arms and legs to casual observation by buying some cheesecloth blouses, long pants, and long skirts which were both attractive and concealing. It was something of a shock to look across the court yard at a pretty woman in light coloured clothes and realise it was their formerly grungy soldier walking along in a swishy skirt. Athos hoped it had as much of an effect on Juliette’s spirits as it did her appearance.

Pascal surprised them all by turning up one day after a visit to Paris—he was now travelling back and forth on his own with [Baudelaire at his side](https://www.thelocal.fr/20170407/paris-allows-big-dogs-to-take-metro-as-long-as-they-have-a-ticket), and rarely suffering a flashback these days—and handing over to Athos an expensive looking bag from one of the city’s best department stores to.

“Um, is this your way of telling me I’m ugly?” Athos joked.

Pascal flushed to the roots of his hair. “Juliette,” he muttered.

Puzzled, Athos took the items out of the bag, and understood immediately. “You’re very kind, did you know that?”

“I was talking to a nurse at the clinic, and she mentioned this stuff. I just wanted to help.”

“I’m sure. Go and give them to her.”

Pascal shook his head. “You take it. She won’t accept it from me.”

“You’re wrong, you know.”

But Pascal was adamant. “She’ll be embarrassed and throw it back at me.”

“I truly doubt that.”

“Please, Athos?”

“If you insist. But I’m telling her who bought it.”

Juliette was out in the garden under an orange tree. Her cats played in the grass nearby, and Aramis was twitching, obviously worrying about one of them using his vegetable patch as a toilet. Juliette kept them in at night, and was assiduous in cleaning up after them. It was pointless to fret when there were so many animals around, but it annoyed Aramis, so she did her best.

“Gift for you from a friend,” Athos said, joining her on the bench and placing the bag next to her. Aramis paused to listen, wiping his forehead. Athos took a moment to admire how the sun had burnished his brother, then turned back to Juliette, who was poking inside the bag. “I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before.”

“Makeup?”

“Special makeup to cover scars and tattoos and birthmarks. Waterproof and smudgeproof, so it says.”

“Actors use it,” Aramis said, coming over to look. “Because so many of them had tattoos they can’t show in their roles.”

Juliette held up the jar, which probably cost more than all the clothes she and the two men were wearing. “You?”

“No. Pascal. He was convinced you would be rude about it. I have no idea where he got such an idea, do you?”

She looked down. “I could wear short sleeves again.”

“Yes. Less covering swimsuits if you like. Mind you, you probably burn like crazy without them.”

“Yes. But...this is so kind.” She seemed surprised, which was a little insulting. Pascal had always treated her gently. “How did he think of it?”

“Why don’t you ask him? He’s too scared to talk to you directly about it. Again, no idea why.”

Aramis grinned. “Juliette, I’ll mind Fitty and Bitty, if you want to talk to him.”

Athos sighed. “Aramis, Fit and Bit are bad enough, thank you.”

“Stop making fun of my cats’ names,” she scolded them both. She got up and walked away, the makeup held carefully in her hand.

“Well, well, well,” Aramis said, staring after her.

“Quite,” Athos agreed. He was altogether very pleased with life right now.


	5. Elodie and Juliette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliette spreads her wings. Unfortunately, she manages to break a few noses in the process

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Unconscionable amounts of sentiment and fluff.
> 
> Also, discussion of killing and eating domestic animals, and non-graphic descriptions of birth. Lots of emotional h/c, kids.

September bought relief from the heat, and harvest of the grapes, stone fruit and hay. D’Artagnan started muttering about getting his goats pregnant again, and Athos added preserving to his chores along with cheese-making. Juliette had started helping him with both.

Pascal began his studies, staying in shared accommodation with fellow students in Paris during the week and returning on weekends. The first couple of weeks were tough for him, and all of them spent time on the phone with him. Aramis fielded one particularly tricky call where Pascal had a flashback while talking to him, and had to get Baudelaire to bark at him over the phone for a solid five minutes to help ease him back. But Pascal made an appointment with his psychologist to talk about the change in routine, and by the end of week two, seemed to be settling in. Athos went up to town a couple of times to meet him for lunch, which the lad welcomed.

Elodie was showing quite a lot by now, but hadn’t slowed down at all, either with her paid work or what she did around the farm. Her mother and sister came to visit, claimed to be charmed by where she lived, then went home again. Juliette had steered clear of all three women during their visit, for all that she and Elodie had become even closer since Juliette’s attack.

Aramis began volunteering with the local primary school, taking extra-curricular football classes. He had also made contact with a nearby church and volunteered there once a week. Athos worried sometimes that Aramis’s spiritual needs might one day lead him to leave the farm and join the church on a full-time basis. The farm residents were a heathen bunch, and even his own parents had stopped going to church decades before. D’Artagnan in particular had little patience with Aramis’s overt faith, which led to some rare outbreaks of friction between the brothers, though not anything that kept them apart for more than a few minutes.

But if Aramis had to leave, then he had to leave. His life, short or long, was his to make. It would break their hearts if he did, but Athos wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him. He just hoped, in secret, it would never happen.

“Pigs,” d’Artagnan announced over a breakfast on a wet morning.

“Yes?” Athos asked.

“We need them. They’re good for the soil, and they’re good for giving a break to a field so you break up the pest cycle. Also, they taste good.”

“They smell bad,” Sylvie said, wrinkling her nose.

“Only if you keep them inside and intensively. Outdoors, no smell.”

“And you’re prepared to cut the throats of piglets and butcher the adults, are you? Because we have one or two animal lovers here,” Athos said, glancing at Sylvie.

“None of whom are vegetarian,” d’Artagnan pointed out. “So yes, I am. I’ll give them a good life, kill them humanely, and waste nothing. And I want to get geese.”

Athos held his hands up. “No geese. The bastards chase people.”

“Yeah, they do and that’s great. Guard dogs. And eggs. And goose meat. Come on, Athos. How can we call ourselves a farm if we buy our geese from a shop?”

Athos shook his head. “Very well. You’re in charge. You handle the complaints. I am nothing to do with that side of it. And for God’s sake, do the killing somewhere discreet, or warn people.”

“I dunno, Athos,” Sylvie said slowly. “People should know where their food comes from.”

“Those people aren’t traumatised soldiers suffering from PTSD. Juliette better not ever see you slit a throat on anything, Charles.”

“I promise. So, can I make arrangements?”

Athos waved him away. “Whatever you like. Just don’t pick a breed with impossibly cute piglets.”

“Thank you.”

“As if you didn’t know I can’t say no to you.

D’Artagnan bent over and kissed him. “Yeah, I know. See you later.”

Sylvie smirked at Athos from behind her coffee cup. “Little finger, wrapped.”

“Almost from the moment I met him,” Athos said, not at all embarrassed. “Of course, the same is true for you.”

She kissed his cheek. “Both ways.”

The pigs would have to wait until the new year, but goose eggs arrived that very weekend, along with an incubator.

“You said geese, not eggs,” Athos pointed out as d’Artagnan set up the equipment in the chicken shed.

“Eggs make ducklings make geese. And if you hatch them, then they imprint on you, and follow you around. You want to be _Papa_?”

“Not on your life. Ask Sylvie or Elodie. Or Porthos. I do not want to have a load of quacking birds trailing around after me.”

“Sometimes, love, I feel your heart isn’t really in the animal husbandry business.”

“That’s why I have you, human husband.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Like the sound of that.”

Athos had to admit he did too. But the law wouldn’t allow him to have four spouses, and he could never pick one over the others, so there they were.

October arrived with a blast of cold air and rain, and the farm, at least the vegetable side of it, began to shut down ahead of the winter. Root vegetables were still being pulled, a few citrus fruits still left to pick, but the apples were all gone, the grapes had been pressed and turned—hopefully—into a drinkable red table wine. Sylvie volunteered to be Mother Goose, even after d’Artagnan carefully explained that the male goslings would be fattened up for eating, and they wouldn’t keep all the females either.

“I do know where goose meat comes from, Charles. Just don’t make me wring their necks and I’ll be okay.”

Juliette didn’t suffer another attack, so it looked as if Lemay had been right about this not being the true start of a systemic breakdown. She met the psychologist recommended by Treville, but didn’t want to pursue it. It would mean travelling to Paris every week and she wasn’t ready for that. Other than that, she was doing better. She smiled more, talked more, socialised with them all more, and spent as much time in the house as in her cabin. They were all still cautious about catching her by surprise, same as they were with Pascal even now, but she lost that wary-eyed expression that had worried them so much on her account.

It might take years before she could rejoin society at large. It might never happen. But they could cope with that. Treville didn’t want to send them anyone else that year, and that suited everyone. No one would be pushed out to make room. Athos had been adamant about that from the start.

Pascal came back for his mid-semester vacation at the end of October, and suddenly they were looking at Christmas looming on the horizon. Porthos was about to start antenatal classes with Elodie in preparation for the baby’s expected arrival in January, and Athos’s mother was making noises about where they would all eat at Christmas and New Year.

“Our place for Christmas, your place for New Year?” Athos suggested. His parents always had a few friends over for New Year.

“Sounds good. The Lemays will come Christmas Eve but Jean will be here two days before.”

“They’re always welcome,” Athos said. “Er, is Ninon coming?”

His mother gave him a satisfied smile. “Yes—with Jean.”

“He’s kept that quiet.”

“I suspect he doesn’t tell his left hand when his right hand is having a fumble, he’s that discreet.”

Athos stared at her in utter shock. “ _Maman!_ ”

“Don’t be a prude, dear.”

She walked off in a cloud of _Chanel N° 5_ , leaving her son gaping. How was it his parents were always surprising him?

But she wasn’t the only one springing surprises that day. Juliette came around to help him with the weekly bread bake—always a monumental effort, considering how much bread the resident consumed, let alone the pastries, cakes, and other tasty fuel for hard working men and women.

“We’re low on flour,” Athos noticed, writing it on the list of shopping they kept in the pantry. “I need to go to town tomorrow for supplies.” They had decided long ago that they could either grow cereal for animals or humans, and since Athos thought milling his own flour was a step too far even for him, they bought flour in. They were self-sufficient in enough ways that he didn’t feel a speck of guilt over this.

“Can I come with you?”

He turned around from his list-making to look at her. “Of course.”

He didn’t need to ask the obvious question. “Elodie...wants me to be there at the birth. I want to desensitise myself so I can. And I want to try working with Doctor Maurice, so I need to be able to travel to Paris.”

“Of course. We should take the dog. He’ll give you something to concentrate on.”

She nodded. “Let’s start making bread.”

Baudelaire was ecstatic at the idea of a car ride, and the company of two of his favourite humans—who could of course never replace his true love, Pascal, but he wasn’t that picky. Sitting next to him and keeping him calm in the backseat took Juliette’s mind off what they were doing until Athos parked behind the shopping area.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, tight-lipped.

Normally Baudelaire was well-behaved on the leash, but he undoubtedly sensed Juliette’s tension through her grip on it, and would not obey her commands, straining at the lead, barking, and generally being a pain. All of which kept her attention on him, but made for some stern looks from the other shoppers.

Athos gently put his hand on her shoulder. “Relax,” he murmured, bringing them to a halt. “He’s reacting to you. Take some deep breaths.”

She obeyed, though her eyes were still wide and frightened. She made herself straighten up, and the arm holding Baudelaire’s leash relaxed. “Good woman,” Athos said quietly. “Butcher first. He’ll have to stay outside. Do you want to go in or stay with him?”

Her eyes darted, looking at the passers-by. “Stay.”

“Just concentrate on him. No one here is a danger to you. I’ll just be inside.” He gave her a few moments. “Ready?” She nodded. “I’ll be quick.”

And he was, but she was white-faced and shaking when he returned. He offered a hug and she took it. “Bravely done,” he whispered.

“I can’t do this.”

Still holding her, he waited a little before asking, “Do you mean that literally?”

She didn’t answer, and he was content to be patient. Finally she said, “Let’s go on.”

He could have gone straight to the market, but he deliberately took a roundabout way to give her more exposure. She wouldn’t desensitise if he coddled her. He pretended to be looking for gifts for his brothers, parents, Elodie and Pascal, and involved her in the conversation and choices. “Elodie told me she doesn’t want to be one of those mothers with every possible gadget,” he said. “And her sister gave her a lot of second hand things.”

“She needs a new coat,” Juliette said. “Her old one is ratty but she’s waiting until the baby is born before she buys another.”

“Then we’ll wait. Ah, a bedding shop. A new throw would be nice.”

He took her inside with Baudelaire. Fortunately the shop was quiet, and Baudelaire behaved. The woman running the place cheerfully listened to Athos’s question and pointed out some faux-fur sherpa throws that were sinfully soft and luxurious. “Charles would die to have one of these.”

Juliette ran her hand over the soft surface, and smiled. Athos made a note to himself, and told the woman he would call later. He had his gift-giving solved, but he’d have to come back to collect them.

Now to the market, which was busier. Juliette stuck close to him and jumped every time someone brushed against her. The meat stall didn’t bother her, but the spice stall made her go white again and clutch her throats as if she was about to be sick. Athos steered her well away, and shielded her until she came back to herself. “Sorry,” she muttered. “The smell.”

“Do you know which one?”

“No...I don’t know the name, I mean. You don’t use it.”

Athos nodded, and made another note to himself, this time to make sure he checked with her if he did decide to add a new spice or herb to his repertoire. “I just have a couple of things to get. Can you wait here, or shall we go back to the car.”

She went rigid with stress, but said, “Wait.”

“Concentrate on Baudelaire. You can do this.”

He had never done his market shopping so fast, but the reward was finding woman and dog calm and unharmed right where he left them. “I think we’ve done enough, don’t you?”

She nodded, so he shepherded them quickly back to the car, and drove to the bulk food depot to pick up two twenty kilogram sacks of flour. Then it was back to the farm. Juliette was shaking and in tears by the time they arrived. He let Baudelaire out of his harness and then stepped back to let Juliette out of the car.

“This is never going to work,” she muttered as he hugged her.

“Yes, it will. You’ve come so far. Look at me holding you. You forbade us to touch you when you arrived. You got through it, though it was hard. You’re tough, you’re brave, and you _will_ succeed.”

“Bravery is nothing to do with it.”

“No. I’m just observing that you are. Help me inside with this stuff, okay?”

She hoisted one of the flour sacks onto her shoulder like it was a bag of cotton wool. He picked up the other one and the rest of the shopping, and they took it into the kitchen.

Once it was all disposed of, he put the kettle on. She was still shaking and wiping away tears. He sat and offered his hand, which she took. “List your achievements today, major.”

“None.”

“Incorrect. One, actually getting in the car and going. Two, not aborting the mission before completion. Three, not harming any civilian. Four, controlling the dog at all times. Five, managing solo without falling apart. Six, leaving the farm for only the third time in nearly a year, and this time, entirely voluntarily. That’s wonderful.”

“I can’t stop shaking.”

He put his arm around her. “What would help? Elodie?”

“No! I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“All right. Tea and cake it is.”

He found a soft blanket and put it around her shoulders, and fed her sweet tea and cake until she had more colour in her face. Porthos came in, looking for a hot drink, went to leave when he saw the two of them, but she said, “No, stay.” So he did.

The kitchen filled up with cold, hungry, and thirsty men, but Juliette stayed put, and even talked to them. She hung around after they’d all gone, but now looked much better. “So,” Athos said. “Want to join me when I take Baudelaire and the cats to the vet on Thursday?”

“I’ll try. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s literally what I’m here for.” He filled a travel mug with tea, and put some cake in a container. “Feel like delivering that to Elodie?”

She raised an eyebrow. “How ever did everyone look after themselves before you appeared?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that it’s what I do now. You did well this morning. Focus on that.”

The vet clinic was less of a challenge, since she’d been there before, and people didn’t mill about and bump into her as they did in town. Athos kept back and let her handle the interactions with the staff, which she did with a calm assurance that made him want to cheer.

“Well done,” he said as they got back into the car.

“Not really a challenge.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

“Paris.”

Athos inhaled. “Do you think you’re up to that?”

She turned to look at him. “No. That’s why I have to try.”

“How about the town with Pascal on Saturday afternoon? I know he has things to buy.”

“He can’t control me if I....”

“What? Go nuts? Won’t happen, Juliette.”

“And if it does?”

“It won’t. Trust me.”

She pursed her lips. “Split the difference. I’ll buy you lunch in town tomorrow. No Baudelaire. Then Paris on Monday.”

“And town with Pascal on Saturday?”

“I’ll try.”

He started the car. “It’s all we can ask.”

That night in bed with d’Artagnan and Sylvie, he mentioned Juliette’s plans. Sylvie thought they were reasonable. D’Artagnan was quietly horrified. “Juliette on a train, on a Monday? Next _week_?”

“She wants to be ready for Elodie’s baby, and we’re running out of time.”

“I know, but...it’s not safe. For her, I mean.”

“I can hardly forbid her to go. She’ll just take herself off on her own, which would be much worse.”

“Charles, Athos will be with her. She’ll be fine.”

“Sylvie, you haven’t really seen anyone in a full flashback, have you?”

“Yes, Pascal—”

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “You’ve seen him _about_ to have a breakdown, and _after_ flashbacks. Same as Aramis. Athos, tell her.”

“He’s right, darling.”

“I don’t understand.” She propped herself up to look at them both. “I read up about—”

“Imagine your worst, most appallingly scary nightmare,” Athos said. “Tell me what that is.”

She lay down again. “ _Papa_. Being beaten to death and I can’t help him. He can’t even hear me, though I’m right there.”

“You know what happened to Juliette, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said in a small voice. Athos cuddled her closer.

“In a flashback, she’s right there, in that nightmare reality. The real world disappears. The commuters, the train, me, Baudelaire, everything. All she sees and hears and feels is that torture chamber, and those men. It’s as if it’s happening right then and there. Can you imagine that?”

She shivered. “Yes?”

“So, horrifying enough. But now you can’t just watch passively. You’re Juliette, a highly trained soldier with lethal skills. How do you think she’s going to react to her torturers?”

“She’ll try to kill them. Or escape.”

“Only she’s not there, she’s in a train carriage with a hundred other people, none of whom she can see,” d’Artagnan said. “She’d go through them like tissue paper. Athos, Treville will go insane if he hears about this.”

“He won’t. She needs help from a psychologist to get over the PTSD. But she needs to get over the PTSD to get to the therapist.”

“What about drugs?” Sylvie said. “For anxiety and that kind of thing.”

They’d helped Aramis, Athos remembered. “It's a thought, Charles.”

“Can we get her a script through the military doctors? Or even Doctor Lemay?”

“I’ll try. Yes, that might be the answer. It’s not a _cure_ , but it might be enough to do what she wants to do.”

“We should talk to that psychologist,” d'Artagnan said. “This is too important to fuck up.”

“Agreed. Thank you,” he said, kissing him, and then Sylvie. “It’s good to know you have my back.”

“Always,” Sylvie said.

“Yeah, same.” D’Artagnan reached across Athos and took Sylvie’s hand. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off, hon.”

“No, you were right. I don’t know, and I’m glad about that.”

“Now, boys and girls, can we go to sleep?” Athos said. “I’m old and I need my sleep.”

“Yes, _Papa_ ,” Sylvie said.

“Of course, _Maman_ ,” d’Artagnan added. Athos just growled, although he smiled as he did.

********************

Doctor Maurice was all for the anti-anxiety medication, though she warned that it wouldn’t necessarily prevent flashbacks and other problems associated with Juliette’s PTSD. “It’s not worth traumatising her just to get her to my office.”

“We’re not proposing to. But this is something she badly wants to do,” Athos said.

“Then if her doctors agree, let her try. Wish her luck for me.”

With that encouragement, Athos called Treville and explained what they planned. “Athos, you cannot take her on a train.”

“Aramis is coming with me, and Pascal will be there in the morning. We’re strong enough to restrain her if we have to.”

“And what would that do to her? No. I’m ordering her officially not to. I’m happy to arrange the script, but she’s forbidden to do this before I get the all clear from a psychologist.”

“I just—”

“I mean someone who’s actually treated her. Let her do what she can near you. Take her to see a film, or a concert, to a café, whatever you can. Even to the hospital. But nowhere near an enclosed space where neither she nor the civilians can escape. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Athos agreed reluctantly.

Juliette was beyond annoyed when he passed this all on. “It’s my body and mind. How dare he?”

“Actually you belong to France, or as good as. He has a point, dear girl. You only need to be able to manage in the hospital.”

She threw her hands up in anger, and walked off from him. “I need to get better.”

“You will. You are. How about this? After the baby’s born, I will drive you to and from Doctor Maurice’s office however many times she needs to see you. It’ll be a pain in the arse, but worth it. I’d suggest it now but you have plenty to be working on for the moment.” Driving into Paris during the weekday was one of his least favourite things, but the hope in her eyes made it worth doing.

“Thank you. You promise?”

“Swear on my honour,” he said, his hand over his heart.

“Good enough for me.”

For their lunch together, Athos deliberately nominated a small, cheerful, but busy café he had been to once before. He didn’t want Juliette to stress too much, but at the same time, it needed to stretch her a little. It turned out to be a success. The presence of strangers made her tense, but making sure she was close to an exit, putting her in the chair out of the path of passing customers, and getting her to focus on him and their conversation, all helped her to cope. That accomplishment allowed her to enjoy the meal, and Athos to take pleasure in genuinely good food he hadn’t had to cook himself.

The only difficult moment was when a man bumped into Juliette as they made their way out of the café. He apologised, and appeared not to notice that she had gone rigid. “Breathe, I’m here, you’re safe,” Athos murmured, carefully taking her arm and guiding her to the door.

Outside, she exhaled. “Oaf,” she managed to say.

“Drunken oaf, I suspect,” Athos said. “Okay?”

“Yes. I really am.”

“Well done. Shall we fill that prescription and go home?”

She went to visit Elodie as soon as they returned, and Athos suspected she wanted to do so on a high. And why not? She’d earned it.

Armed with the anti-anxiety medication, Pascal, and Baudelaire, Juliette made another trip into town, and returned triumphant, waving a bag of oranges at Athos. “I did it! On my own!”

“She did,” Pascal confirmed, amused at her jubilation. “Baudelaire was more nervous than she was.”

“Well done, again,” Athos said. “You let me know when you want to try the hospital.”

“Not yet. I have to conquer other settings first.”

“Yes, of course.”

********************

Normally Athos had an infallible instinct for trouble, so when he woke that Monday morning without the smallest sense of dread, he thought he could trust that feeling. He rose before his phone’s alarm his disturbed bed companions, and went down to have breakfast with Pascal before he drove the lad to the train station. No sign of him, so Athos assumed he'd overslept. Only when he climbed the stairs and knocked on Pascal’s door, only to find it open and the room unoccupied, did his instincts kick in. He pulled out his phone and called Pascal.

“Where are you?”

“At the train station. Did you forget Juliette’s appointment this morning? She drove me to the station and we’re catching the train to Paris. She said she arranged it with you.”

“Pascal, she’s not supposed to...she’s not _allowed_ to be on a train!”

“What did you say? Sorry, I can’t hear you. The train’s just pulling in. I’ll call you back. Bye!”

Athos swore at his phone then yelled, “D’Artagnan!”

His brother ran down the stairs seconds later. “What’s happened?”

“Juliette. Train. Paris. Fuck!”

“Can we stop her?”

“They just boarded, damn it!”

“Can we intercept them at one of the stations?”

“I’d need to involve the police. Get dressed, would you?”

D’Artagnan ran back upstairs while Athos called Juliette’s number. No answer. He tried Pascal again. “Hi, Athos. Sorry, the train noise—”

“Pascal, Juliette lied to you. She’s not supposed to be on the train. Colonel Treville explicitly ordered her not to.”

“Oh.”

“Tell her to get off at the next stop and return. This is not a joke.”

“Understood.”

Pascal hung up. Athos paced, running his hand over and over through his hair, until Pascal called back. “She won’t do it. She has to try, she says.”

“ _Fuck_. Pascal, stay with her. Don’t leave her in Paris. I’ll get someone to meet you at Avenue Foch. Just wait outside the main doors.”

“Athos, I have a nine o’clock lecture.”

“I won't make you wait.” Athos hoped he wasn’t lying. “Charles!”

D’Artagnan and Sylvie both ran down stairs. “What can we do?”

“I need to get to Paris. You too.”

“Can I help?” Sylvie asked.

“Sorry, love. If you can find Aramis and Porthos and let them know, but for God’s sake, don’t tell Elodie or hint anything is wrong, okay?”

“I can do that. Good luck.”

He and d’Artagnan bolted out the door. “You drive,” Athos said, “I need to call Treville.”

Fortunately the colonel answered on the second ring, but was predictably unimpressed. “Athos, you were supposed to stop this happening.”

“How, Jean? Put her in a cage?”

“Hiding the bloody keys, would be a start.”

Yes, that’d work. _Not_. “Jean, I need you or someone to meet her and Pascal off the train. D’Artagnan and I are on our way but we’re at least half an hour behind her. More if we drive.”

“I’ll contain her. But will she come back with you?”

“If she doesn’t, what will you do?”

“Let’s just say, I don’t think she’d like it. Where do I meet them?”

Athos gave the time he’d expected them at Avenue Foch, and where Pascal would be. Then he called Pascal back and told him to wait for Treville with Juliette.

“What if she won’t let me?”

“Tell her from me that unless she fancies being arrested in the middle of Paris, she’ll behave, and return quietly. Actually, don’t bother, she can hear all this. And when I see her next, I’m going to murder the pair of you.”

“She told me—”

“Yes, I know. It’s not your fault,” Athos admitted grudgingly. “But I still want to hit someone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Concentrate on her. We’re not out of danger yet. She needs to focus on you, and not break down. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am going to die of a heart attack from stress over these people,” Athos muttered after Pascal hung up.

“You’re letting him off easy.”

“He couldn’t have stopped her, and she’s a highly trained covert operative. Unfair contest. Fuck!”

“Your mother would be horrified at your bad language, love.”

“My mother told me a masturbation joke the other day, so I doubt it. Come on, can’t we go faster?”

Sensibly, d’Artagnan ignored him.

The journey to Paris took fifty-three minutes, and every second of it involved being pressed up against a stranger. At least d’Artagnan was at his back, but by the time they stepped off the train at Avenue Foch, Athos was nearly as twitchy as Juliette. "This way,” he snapped, and charged toward the exit where he told Pascal to wait for him.

He found Treville and an apparently unrepentant Juliette standing together outside. Pascal was nowhere to be seen. “I sent him off,” Treville said before Athos could ask. “He was worried about missing his lecture.”

“No problem. Juliette?”

She gave him a mulish look. “I got here, didn’t I?”

“And how many pills have you taken?”

“Enough.” It was probably the only reason the two MPs standing a little way off were over _there_ and not restraining this maddening woman.

“What the hell were you thinking? Did you fancy a stroll down the Champs Elysées? Going to mix with the shoppers at Les Halles?”

She glared. “I told you, I needed to try this.”

“And it’s only by the grace of God you didn’t hurt yourself, young Pascal, or anyone of the people on that train,” Treville said. “I don’t have time for this. Major Grimaud, get your butt back to the Garrison and bloody _stay_ there. Athos, d’Artagnan, do you need assistance?” He nodded over at the MPs.

“Do we?” Athos asked her.

“No,” she said sulkily. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

“No, you’re just naturally talented,” d’Artagnan said in disgust. “We can catch a train back in five,” he said to Athos.

“Then let’s do that. Thank you, sir,” he said to Treville, who only grunted and walked off. “Great.”

Juliette grinned at them, then skipped back into the station and down the stairs. “She’s high,” d’Artagnan muttered as they went after her.

“As a bloody _kite_. Why is this my life?”

“Some lofty notion about doing good with your remaining years? I dunno, sounds a bit sentimental to me.”

Athos pretended to cuff his ear, then caught up with Juliette. “You, stick with us. And behave. We will sit on you if we have to.”

“All I did was get on a train. I was coming right back.”

“As _two_ kites,” d’Artagnan muttered. Athos agreed.

Juliette ignored them as they rode the train home, but the fact she had to concentrate on doing that, in addition to her highly medicated state, probably saved them all from disaster. She got out of the car at the farm and glared at them. “Now what?”

“Go sleep it off. I’m not talking to someone out of their skull on meds. Shoo.”

She did a little double-take, then turned and flounced off towards her cabin. If she went to Elodie’s house in this state, Athos wondered what Elodie would say. He found he didn’t care.

Sylvie had gone to work, Aramis and Porthos were doing chores, so it was just Athos and D’Artagnan in the house. “Breakfast?” d’Artagnan asked.

“I’m too pissed off to eat. But I’d better, I suppose.”

D’Artagnan put the kettle on, then came over and gave him a hug, which was nice. Athos wished Sylvie wasn’t working that day. He would need a lot of hugs, he suspected.

As they were finishing breakfast, Juliette came into the kitchen, and stood straight against the wall, with her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “So, let me have it.”

“And that’s my cue to go away,” d’Artagnan said, ignoring her in favour of kissing Athos. “Come find me?”

“Of course.”

Athos paid Juliette no attention as he cleared up. If she wanted to talk to him—again, in violation of his explicit request not to—she could start.

“Nothing happened,” she said. “So you should be pleased.”

“Pleased that you managed to take a short train journey with the forced support of your friends, a shitload of medication, and the fact you were so insufferably pleased with pulling one over me that you probably didn’t have a chance to be triggered? Oh yes, I’m delighted.”

“What happens now?”

He flung the cloth he’d been using into the sink and turned, folding his arms. “What do you expect to happen? I mean, you must have calculated that your little escapade was worth not only risking the health and safety of a lot of innocent civilians, but also your friendship with Pascal. And clearly you thought that it more than outweighed losing my trust. So where do we go from here?”

“Are you going to send me back?”

“I would never do that, and unlike you, I keep my promises.” Her eyes narrowed at that. “But I can’t do anything more for you. Everything we’ve done together, all the work everyone has done to help you, has been based on trust and love and friendship. You exploited that. Now I can’t trust you. I can’t rely on you. I can’t ever turn my back on you in case you use that as a chance to trick me or someone else I care about. So stay, if you want. But I can’t help you any more, Juliette.”

“I only wanted to try so I can be with Elodie.”

He slammed his hand down on the table, and she jumped. “So you betrayed all of us for that selfish desire? What makes you think Elodie wants someone who behaves like this anywhere near her child? You’re a soldier, Juliette, with superhuman strength and trained to kill. We all are. We only walk around freely because it’s assumed we can control ourselves. We thought we knew that you couldn’t only because of what was done to you, but it turns out that it’s also because the normal restraints of honour, of basic _manners_ , don’t work on you.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“Of course not. You will, because you’re proud of it, even now.”

“Yes, I am!” she spat back. ”Because I did something dangerous, something I didn't know I could handle, and I did it without you holding my hand! You think I’m helpless, and I have to be managed like a child—”

“So you decided to prove us wrong by running away like a bratty teenager.” He turned to the sink and looked out the window. He saw Baudelaire playing with the kittens and his heart ached. He wished it was twenty-four hours ago when seeing them together wouldn’t remind him of everything Juliette had thrown away.

“Maybe I should come back when you’re not so angry.”

“I’m not angry. I’m heartbroken. We fought for you, and we lost. I lost. I lost a friend. So did Pascal. Please...go away. And for fuck’s sake, sober up before you inflict yourself on anyone else today.”

“I _am_ sober. You think those pills last that long in a body like mine?”

“Then you need to come down off the high of pulling this off. I can’t bear to look at you.”

He heard what sounded like a sob, but he refused to look around until the back door opened and closed. Then he fell onto a chair and put his face in his hands. He didn’t dare cry because his brothers would hear and they had suffered enough of his miserable moods over the last three years.

No, this one was his to bear.

And he really wanted a drink.

He had things to do. Paperwork, orders, meals to plan and to make. But he couldn’t make himself care. He sat in the silent kitchen for...how long he wasn’t sure...while the farm went on with its routine. He had failed as an officer and as a friend. It was years since he’d felt this low, this hopeless.

He looked up as the door opened and shut. “My God, Athos.” Aramis came swiftly over and put his arms around him, sitting beside him. “I’m so sorry. I should have come back sooner.”

Athos shook his head, letting himself sink into Aramis’s wonderful embrace.

“I was talking to Juliette.”

Athos pushed away, stood up and went to the sink. He stared at the drainer, trying to remember what he had to do next. “If you’ve come to plead her case—”

"On the contrary. I know exactly how much this must hurt you.”

Athos turned to face him. “It’s not like I don’t know why she did it, Aramis. I’d almost admire her for it, if she hadn’t dragged Pascal into it. You and I, we all did things this outrageous after we were locked up.”

“But she did it to _you_ , not some unfeeling bureaucracy. I know, my friend.” Aramis’s dark eyes held no judgement, no blame. “The question is, where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what’s killing me. I thought we had made a breakthrough. I thought we had such a good chance of helping her back to some kind of normal life. I thought she trusted me.”

“She does. She didn’t like Treville’s high-handed ban.”

“She’s in the military. Orders are orders. My blood runs cold every time I think about what she could have done on that train, with her abilities, if she felt under threat. And she’d be dead now, most likely.”

“I pointed that out to her,” Aramis said dryly. “Several times, and with increasing levels of profanity. I think she understands it now.”

“Fantastic. Meanwhile, Pascal...bugger, I need to call the kid. He must think I hate him.”

He pulled out his phone, and called Pascal’s number. It went to voicemail, so he left a message. “It's me. Pascal, you did nothing wrong. I’m not angry, we love you, and I want to have lunch with you this week if you have time. Call me this evening. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

He put the phone away, and looked at Aramis. “She had no right.”

“No. But her job, her unique skillset if you like, requires a level of cold-bloodedness above and beyond anything we needed. It’s part of what’s making it so hard for her to trust and to heal.”

“What are we going to do?”

Aramis leaned back. “Wait. Give it twenty-four hours, or more. She wanted to pack up and leave. I told her the same. Everyone needs time to cool off, think. Feel love.” And to prove his point, he got up and wrapped Athos in his arms. “I am one hundred percent on your side, Athos,” he murmured, kissing his hair. “But a hundred percent on hers too.”

“So am I. That’s why it hurts.”

“I know, my friend.” They stood for a little while like that. “I’ve done everything I need to do outside. Charles is looking at Chayse. She’s due sometime soon.”

“Oh. I forgot.”

“I can imagine. So, do you need a hand with anything? I could do with a change in routine.”

Athos pulled away, though he held Aramis’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank you. As for helping, I’m making a beef stew. If you take that over, I can start my meal planning.”

“Done.”

Aramis’s company, if not the paperwork, was a comfort Athos desperately needed. When D’Artagnan wandered back an hour or so later, and gave him a long smooch and a hug, that was also wonderful, and his brothers decided soul sick was as bad as body sick, so they spoiled him. They made him tea and fed him and fretted over him, which would normally drive him insane, but felt good this morning.

He couldn’t help wondering how Juliette was, though. He couldn’t hate her. He loved her, like he loved Pascal. He desperately wanted her to succeed. He didn’t know if she would now or not.

Porthos came in a few minutes later, rested his forehead against Athos’s, and murmured comforting words, before loudly demanding refreshment and sitting next to Athos. “Chayse is gonna give birth soon, yeah?” he said to d’Artagnan.

“I think so. I’m going to sit up with her tonight.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Porthos said.

“Thanks.”

“Just be warned she might hold back for days if she’s spooked,” Athos said.

“I know. But it won’t hurt to keep an eye on her.”

“No. It’s what we do. At least if they let us," he added to himself.

By unspoken agreement, the four of them stuck together as much as possible that day, doing chores and breaking bread together. Athos wasn’t left alone again. After lunch, when Porthos and d’Artagnan thought it was a good idea to get some sleep in anticipation of the long night ahead of them, they insisted Athos join them. Athos spent the afternoon sandwiched between his brothers, and if it led to insomnia later, he didn’t care. He needed this.

It was dark when he woke to the feel of d’Artagnan’s lips on his forehead, and his arms around Athos. “I need to go,” d’Artagnan whispered. “Porthos can spell me in a couple of hours.”

“Okay. We’ll make sure you have hot food and drinks. Vet's number at hand?”

“Always. Love you.”

“Me too.”

Porthos rolled over into Athos’s arms after d’Artagnan left, and a few minutes later, Aramis, who had been in the garden, slipped in for some free cuddles. He was chilled from being out in the cold for so long. Athos and Porthos took pleasure in warming him up, and when Sylvie came home, she got the thermal treatment as well.

They avoided talking about Juliette or the problem of what would happen with her. Aramis’s advice was sound—they needed to think. Instead, they kept busy, keeping Porthos and d’Artagnan supplied, and giving them company in shifts.

Chayse was confined in a stall at the far end of the stables, where it was warmest and quietest, and d’Artagnan had cautioned them all to be quiet and calm if they came to look at proceedings. Sylvie was so excited for the coming birth. “All this time, there’s been a baby horse in there, and now we get to unwrap the present. It’s like Christmas come early.”

“A very messy, wet Christmas present,” d’Artagnan warned.

Elodie, but not Juliette, came out to the stables for a look-see as well. None of them had said anything to Elodie, but Athos knew she knew from the sad looks she gave him, and the hug she accepted.

Chayse's situation resonated with her. “I hope I don’t have this many spectators when mine comes,” she whispered at one point when they all happened to be watching the labouring mare at a safe distance.

“More, most likely,” Porthos said cheerfully. “If you give birth on the street, you’ll have dozens of people watching.”

She smacked his arm. “Don’t even _joke_ about that. God, Porthos, that’s my worst nightmare.”

Athos smiled at their interaction, before walking off to the other end of the stables to pet Roger who was complaining about all the fuss happening where he couldn’t see it, and to call Pascal. The lad answered on the first ring. “Hey,” Pascal said.

“Hello. How are you now?” He kept patting Roger and petting his nose, even though the stallion tried to eat his phone.

“A bit on edge. Had a couple of brief flashbacks today during a tutorial.”

“Damn. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything, Athos.”

“I blamed you and I was completely wrong about that. It’s not your fault at all.”

“That's not what upset me. What’s going to happen with Juliette?”

“I don't know. We’re giving it a day or two before we make any decision. What do you want to happen?”

“Me?”

“It’s your home too. And she used you and abused your trust. You suffered worst of all of us.”

“I don’t want her to be thrown out because of me.”

“That won’t happen,” Athos said firmly. “You won’t be thrown out, period. Neither of you will. But it makes things difficult.”

“Yeah. I keep thinking, why did she think it was worth it?”

Athos sighed. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing all day. Are you okay? Do you want one of us to come to town and stay in a hotel with you or something?”

“No, I’m okay. A couple of friends of mine have helped a lot. They’re both ex-army. They know a bit about my problems.”

“Oh, good. Offer stands though. And I want to have lunch with you. Only not tomorrow because we think Chayse will have her foal tonight?”

“Really? That’s awesome! Will you send me photos? Anything? I can’t wait to see it.”

“I swear, if we had livestream, you’d have footage now. You’ll get photos, I promise. So maybe lunch Wednesday?”

“I’d like that. No lectures that afternoon.”

“Good, then we can take our time. You can call me whenever you want, you know that. Even if it’s two am and you can’t sleep.”

“I know. Thanks, Athos. I’m so glad you called.”

“I needed to hear your voice too. Now, try and have a good evening.”

“You too. And photos, don’t forget!”

Athos grinned as Pascal hung up, then swung around when he heard footsteps behind him. _Elodie_.

“Come to talk to Roger? Behave,” he added to the horse, as Roger snorted at the two of them.

“No, to you. How are you?”

“Better. Not back to normal. You? How did you find out?”

She gave him a wry look. “She came around this afternoon to confess her sins.”

“Thought she would. Did you give her the sympathy she wanted?”

“No. I went off at her and she walked out. She said she did it for me. Why would she think I wanted that?”

“Because she’s desperate to be the person she thinks you need, darling.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, and didn’t object when Athos enfolded her into a hug. “I didn’t ask her to do that.”

“I know. She knows it too. She wants to be well. Her life is on hold and she wants to be up and doing like the rest of us are.”

“But to put everyone in danger like that. And Pascal too! Is he all right?”

“He will be. Please don’t fret, Elodie. We’re not going to make any decisions or do anything in a hurry or without talking to everyone.”

She wiped her nose. “She’s missing out on this. She knows we’re all out here and so she’s hiding.”

“She did rather get it with both barrels from everyone today. Not that she didn’t deserve it.”

“I can’t bear it. When she hurts, I hurt.” She shrugged out of his arms. “I’m going to talk to her.”

“Good luck. And you can tell her no one is shunning her. If she wants to join us, no one will push her away, though I might not feel too thrilled about talking to her, at least tonight.”

“I don’t blame you.”

She trudged out of the stable and across the courtyard. Athos wondered what her reception would be.

Having had a nap, Athos stayed up until after midnight, spelling Porthos and d’Artagnan while they had toilet and coffee breaks. He was fortunate enough to be there when Chayse's water broke at oh one hundred hours. Everyone who wasn’t keeping vigil had demanded he wake them so they could see the birth, so he ran back to the house and yelled, “Foal’s about to come” up the stairs, and shouted the same at the cabins as he returned to the stable.

Chayse was now on the ground, straining. Porthos was filming the whole thing, while d’Artagnan anxiously watched their mare. Athos slung an arm around his waist.

“I see a foot!” Porthos whispered excitedly. By the time the foal was half out, all the farm residents were there to watch, keeping quiet. They had to wait half an hour, but finally a cheer went up as the rest of the baby horse appeared, followed not long after by a couple of ‘yucks’ as the afterbirth also appeared.

“Okay, everyone,” d’Artagnan said quietly, his arms out, urging them away from the stall. “She needs peace and quiet.”

Athos turned and saw Juliette at the back of the group. She stared at him, giving nothing away. He didn’t anything to her as he passed, but he put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. Just before he entered the house, he saw Elodie walking back to the cabins with her arm around Juliette.

He sent Sylvie off to sleep with Aramis. “I’m going to wait for the boy and Porthos. They’ll need to clean up.”

She kissed his cheek. “See you upstairs then. It was so beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Nothing lovelier than a new foal. Except maybe you.”

She tapped his nose. “Sweet talker.”

D’Artagnan and Porthos weren’t that long in coming back. “I’ll call the vet in the morning, get her to come and check. It’s a colt,” d’Artagnan said, looking pleased with the world.

“And I got lots of photos to send your parents and Pascal,” Porthos said.

“Send some tonight if you can. I promised Pascal. Well done, you two.” He hugged them both. “Now, go shower, and come to bed.”

Athos crawled into bed next to Sylvie, and when Porthos came in, he curled around Aramis’s back. D’Artagnan wrapped himself around Athos. “Day sure ended better than it started,” he murmured.

“Wouldn’t be hard. Goodnight, love,”

“‘Night, Athos.”

********************

Athos didn't see Juliette the next two days, although he was out and about, talking to the vet with d’Artagnan about Chayse and her unnamed colt, cleaning out Roger’s stall while Porthos took the stallion for a ride, and helping Aramis clean up the garden in preparation for the winter. He would need to talk to Juliette soon as the superfluous goslings were ready to be killed and frozen, and he wanted her to have plenty of warning to stay clear of the back of the stables, where he and D’Artagnan would do the deed.

But there was time for that, and he wanted to think. His anger had dissipated, and so had his sorrow, as he turned the issue over and over, found things to be glad of, reasons to be hopeful, and maybe a way forward. He hoped she was doing the same thing. And all the time, his brothers offered quiet, non-judgemental support and company, which made him love them all the more.

On Wednesday morning, with Sylvie gone to work, and Elodie able to take a message to Juliette, the goose slaughter was carried out with maximum speed and minimum distress. The messiest bit was dressing them, but Athos and d’Artagnan had both done this before. They had most of it done before Athos had to shower, change and drive to the station to catch a train to meet Pascal for lunch.

D’Artagnan was starting to change his mind, he said, about the pig idea. “It’ll be less costly to increase the number of fowl. But we could buy a piglet in spring, and grow it until December.”

Athos was happy with that, because while it was necessary, cutting a pig’s throat would be a lot more unpleasant than cutting off a goose’s head, which was no delight either. And pigs meant a lot more veterinary costs, if they wanted to be humane, and they were all determined to be with all their animals. No anaesthetic-free castration or spaying for them.

All of this provided a good and necessary distraction from unhelpful thoughts about failing Juliette, and how badly things had gone. Athos wanted to be in a positive mood when he met Pascal, because the lad needed support and help to stay motivated.

He’d booked a table at _Le Longchamp Paris Dauphine_ restaurant, not far from Paris Dauphine University, and Pascal was waiting for him as he arrived. He embraced the lad, then leaned back to look at him critically. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, honest.”

Perhaps not the entire truth, and not only because of Juliette’s escapade. The course was tough, the competition fierce, and Pascal was one of nature’s perfectionists. All this made for a lot of stress even without everything else going on with the lad. Athos was determined to make this meal a good memory for him.

They ordered, Athos having the salmon, Pascal the andouillettes, and once the waiter went away, Athos showed him the latest ‘baby photos’ of the new colt. Pascal oohed and aahed like a proud father. “I can’t wait to see him in the flesh. What are you going to call him?”

“We haven’t decided. D’Artagnan wants to get a feel for his temperament, so I suppose it depends if he takes after his bad-tempered bastard of a father, or his sweet and gentle mother.”

“He looks like Roger,” Pascal said, smiling at the photo on Athos’s phone. “But so cute. Remy.”

Athos was taken by surprise. “What?”

“Remy. He looks like a Remy to me.”

“It’s a nice name. Do you know anyone called that? Someone close to you?”

Pascal flushed. “No,” he mumbled.

“ _Pascal_.”

“It’s from a movie I liked as a kid. _Ratatouille_.”

“Okay.” But the lad was still beet-red. “What aren’t you telling me? Was it the villain’s name?”

“No, no. Remy is the hero! Only...he’s a rat.”

“You mean, like an anti-hero?”

“No, an actual rat. Rodent. Who cooks.”

Athos’s lips twitched in amusement. “You want to name our pride and joy, the beautiful baby horse we’ve all fallen in love with, after a rat who cooks.”

“I like the name, that’s all. Sorry.”

Athos chuckled, and patted Pascal’s hand. “Don’t be. It’s a good name. In fact, I like it. I’ll suggest it to d’Artagnan now.” True to his word, he sent a text, though without the explanation. “There. Just never tell him why you like the name. Now, how’s the foot going?”

He kept the conversation about Pascal—the success of the prosthesis, the course, his new friends, his rare excursions around Paris—until they had finished the sinfully delicious chocolate marquise for dessert, having eschewed cheese in order to fit it in. Athos ordered coffee for them both, then sat back. “So. How do you feel about the Juliette situation now?”

“Better. I’m still worried, a little annoyed. But I can see why she did it. We’re soldiers. It’s what we do. We push ourselves to the limits, and we rely on our comrades to help us. I think she forgot that I’m not actually capable of stopping her doing anything. Not even if I still had my foot. And I can understand her frustration at being trapped on the farm. She must wonder if she’ll ever leave, or ever get well. We had such a good day last Saturday, she was fooled into thinking it would be fine to try the train. What do you think?”

Athos smiled. “I think you’re a very bright young man, and understand things very well. It doesn’t make it right what she did to you, but I can’t help thinking we set her up to fail our trust by setting boundaries too rigidly. By ‘we’ I mean, me and the colonel, not you. What would you suggest as a way to go forward? If she was in your unit, say?”

Pascal rubbed his nose as he thought. “Discipline and punishment are pointless, and I guess she’s probably punishing herself worse than any of us could do.”

“Exactly.”

“So, since we want what she wants, make it happen faster. Is there any way to bring the psychologist to her?”

“No,” Athos said regretfully. “The doctor has too many patients. But I offered to drive her to appointments after Elodie’s baby was born.”

Pascal frowned. “Why? I mean, why wait?”

Athos mentally smacked himself. “Why indeed. I thought she wasn’t ready, but she is. And we can continue with desensitisation closer to home, as we have been.”

The waiter brought their coffee, and Athos sipped his while regarding Pascal and thinking of how much he’d changed since his arrival a year ago. Or reverted to his real self, more likely.

“Will she agree?” Pascal asked.

“I have no idea. She might have ideas of her own. I’m letting her think just as I have been. But your ideas have been very helpful. Thank you. I know how painful this has been.”

“Worse for her.”

“You’re a good friend. When you graduate, don’t wander too far, will you? We’d miss you too much.”

Pascal grinned. “I was thinking the same thing.”

********************

They took a long walk in the Bois de Boulogne after the meal, before Athos said goodbye and promised to pick Pascal up on Friday evening from the train station. He had a lot to think about on the way home. He felt more hopeful than he had since Monday morning. Maybe this situation did have an answer, one he had been too blinkered to realise.

On his return, he found a note on the kitchen table. _Athos, please come for tea? Juliette_

Looked like he wasn’t the only one who’d come to some kind of resolution. He scribbled a note to his brothers on the end of Juliette’s so they knew where he was, then went back outside to the cabins.

She opened the door as soon as he knocked—she must have heard his footsteps. “Please, come in.”

He did so, stopping to pet Bit who was looking for attention, then picked her up carefully. “How are you?” he asked, sitting down in the armchair opposite the small sofa.

She stood in the little kitchen. “Chastened. Mint tea or something else?”

“Mint tea would be nice, thank you.”

She made the pot and brought it over on a tray, setting it on the coffee table. “I owe you an apology. I owe you much more than that. And to Pascal. But I suppose you don’t want to hear mere words.”

“I do if you mean them. I believe you meant them before. I don’t think you were planning to deceive me all along. It was more of a sudden thing, wasn’t it?”

Startled, she nodded. “Yes. I just thought...I felt so good, so confident after I went shopping with him. Some of it was the drug, I realise now, making me able to cope.”

“It wouldn’t make you cope if you couldn’t do most of it yourself.”

She poured out the tea. “I’m not so sure. But I was so...I am so desperate to be able to...to _live_ , Athos. I feel like one of d’Artagnan’s chickens, stuck on my nest, unable to get away. I’m better than this. I was meant for more than this. And those _bastards_ took it away.” She lifted her cup to her lips but her hands shook so much, she put it down again. “I’m not excusing myself. I’m explaining.”

“I understand. Tell me what you want to do. I mean, as a way to achieve what you want.”

“You want to help me?”

“Nothing’s changed, Juliette. I said that, I meant it. But we need to find a way to work together.”

“How is Pascal?”

“He’s fine. He had a lot to say about you. His biggest concern was that we would make you leave. He’s worried about you and he cares about you. And if you want to apologise to him, do it to him directly. He deserves that much.”

She nodded, then picked up her teacup again. This time, her hand was steadier. “And you? How far are you prepared to trust me?”

He petted the cat, and answered carefully. “As far as you let me. I understand what you were trying to do. I understand why you did it. I even understand why you disobeyed Treville’s orders, and I can hardly yell at you when I’ve been as insubordinate as that and more. But you saw me as an enemy to your success and so you deceived me to stop me stopping you. What did I do to make you see _me_ that way?”

She looked down. “I didn’t. I wanted to _prove_ myself to you. Be worthy of the time and care and love you’ve spent on me. That you all have. I wanted...I just wanted...I’m the one being cared for. But I’m strong! I protect, I care for, I am the one in charge who saves lives and the mission and my people. I wanted you to be proud of me.” She hung her head and Athos heard her breathing change as she cried.

He put Bit down, and moved to the sofa so he could put his arm over her shoulders. “I’m sorry I ever made you think I wasn’t,” he murmured.

“I broke your _heart_ ,” she sobbed.

“It got better.”

That made her giggle through her tears. He just held on until she could bring herself under control, then he offered her his clean handkerchief to wipe her eyes with. “I forgive you, if you can forgive me,” he said. “I made mistakes. The biggest one was making you wait when you were ready to move. So how about we call Doctor Maurice and get the first appointment she has available, and I drive you into Paris for it? No more waiting. We’ll move at your pace, not mine.”

She turned red eyes on him. “What about Treville?”

“His orders still stand. No confined spaces you can’t walk out of, or where civilians can’t get away from you. So, no trains, planes or submarines, okay?” She smiled a little. “And you come shopping with me, I’ll take you to the movies, or Pascal or Aramis will, we’ll do what we can to get you ready for Elodie, but if you’re _not_ , it’s not the end of the world. If you don’t believe me, believe her.”

“She’s so angry with me.”

“Bet you ten euros she’s not. By the way, Pascal has the best name for the colt. Remy.”

She blinked. “It’s nice but why—?”

“Because it’s the name of his favourite movie character—an animated, cooking rat.”

She stared, horrified, then burst out laughing. “No!”

“Oh yes. But I’m not telling Charles. Not yet, anyway.”

“You’re a bit of a sod, Athos.”

“Hmmm, sometimes.” He kissed her hair. “Now, drink your tea. Have you eaten today?”

“Breakfast.”

“Have you any food in the place?”

“Some biscuits, I think.”

“Juliette,” he scolded. “Come back to the house and let me feed you before the hordes arrive.”

“Okay, but I need to do a couple of things first.” She called Doctor Maurice, and was able to make an appointment the following Tuesday. She also sent a text to Pascal.

“Now, I can eat,” she said, putting her phone away. Athos suspected her stomach wouldn’t let her feed herself until she had settled her mental turmoil.

Over in the house, he cooked some pasta and heated up some of the meat sauce he always had a supply of for fast meals, and made her hot chocolate for after. He told her Pascal’s news, and about d’Artagnan’s pig plan changes, other bits and pieces of utterly inconsequential information, to draw her back into the shared world of the farm and to reassure her she still had a place in it.

In turn, she shared with him some of the research she’d been doing on line into her condition, some other thoughts she’d had about how to help her re-enter society. And most amazingly of all, she now wished to cooperate with Étienne Lemay.

“Not to help me, but the other women.”

“That’s as good a reason as any. And I _am_ proud of you.”

Her eyes filled as she smiled at him, then ducked her head.

The others trooped in around six, needing warmth and hot drinks. Aramis went to Juliette’s side. She looked up at him. He bent and kissed her head. “Welcome home, my dear.”

Sylvie put her hand on Juliette’s shoulder. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

D’Artagnan gave Juliette a little wave. “We missed you.”

Porthos and Elodie were back from another antenatal class. Porthos nodded at Juliette, smiled approvingly. “Well done.” And Elodie went to her side and put her arm over her shoulders, squeezed her close. “Hello, love,” she whispered.

Athos took a photo of them all at the table and sent it to Treville without explanation.

Elodie accepted tea, but after the first sip, leaned back and rested her hand on her stomach. “So ready to be done with this.”

“Just when I was getting the hang of them classes and all,” Porthos mock-complained.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to do them while this one is using my bladder for a trampoline. I can’t even breathe properly, my lungs are so squashed.”

“You have another six weeks to go," Aramis said. “Will you make it?”

“Damn right I will,” she said. “I’ve come this far.”

“I thought Juliette might like to go with you on your next doctor’s appointment. I could drive you both,” Athos said.

“I don’t mind,” Elodie said, as it was no big deal, but the grin she gave Juliette make her true feelings clear. If Juliette could manage the hospital visit, she might just get her heart’s desire of being present at the birth.

If she could do that, then maybe, just maybe, Juliette had a chance of regaining everything else she thought she had lost.

Athos suspected Elodie couldn’t wish for a better gift.

********************

They had a full house for Christmas. Pascal was there of course, and Elodie’s friend and business partner, Matthieu, was staying overnights. At Athos’s parents, the Lemays, Treville, and Ninon didn’t even come close to filling the mansion, but it meant that the farm dining room would be almost overflowing for Christmas dinner.

Elodie was of concern in the days running up to Christmas since she had been unwell for a couple of days, but after a dash with Porthos to the hospital in the pouring rain, all was deemed well and it was just the baby shifting around and pressing on things that made her feel sick. Juliette waited on her hand and foot, Porthos was on call for anything that needed to be fetched or anyone driven anywhere, and everyone else was ready to drop anything for accommodate the smallest request.

Elodie thought it was hilarious. “You realise women have been giving birth for hundreds of thousands of years, don’t you?” she said to Athos. “Without doctors or hospitals or anyone even washing their hands first.”

“Yes, dear,” he said, undeterred. “But you’re _our_ first, and we don’t want any harm to come to you. So sit back and enjoy it. You’ll be missing it in a couple of months, I guarantee.”

Preparations for Réveillon had been going on for a couple of weeks. Athos and Juliette had cooked enough to literally feed a smallish army, though not all of it was for Christmas. Athos usually made extra of everything they cooked, and stored the excess, so that when they were busy or tired or out of inspiration, they had only to open the freezer or a jar, or fetch a container from the cool store.

The others had also been busy. D’Artagnan and Aramis had bought a pine tree in a pot to act as their tree, to be planted on the farm after New Year. Sylvie and Pascal took on the decoration of the tree and the rest of the house. And everyone helped give the house a thorough clean in readiness for guests.

Plans for midnight mass were abandoned, much to Aramis’s regret since he’d been looking forward to it, but the torrential rain that had hit northern France was causing flooding in their area, and Athos’s father deemed it unsafe and unnecessary to be out on the roads that evening. However, driving the short distance between the house and the farm was fine, so Athos’s parents and their guests turned up at the farm just before five, to be greeted with mulled wine and hot chocolate and plates of delicate _amuse-bouches_ to keep them until dinner.

Athos looked at his mother carrying her medical bag. “Better safe than sorry,” she said. “Especially with you lot.” She set it down in the kitchen, out of the way.

“I quite agree. I hope you don’t need it though.”

“That makes two of us,” his father said. “Merry Christmas, son.” He offered his hand but Athos went in for a hug—as much for the shocked secret delight it always gave his father as for his own need to do so. His mother got a hug of her own from Athos, his brothers, and Sylvie. The Lemays were also greeted with hugs and handshakes, and Constance swept up in a four-way cuddle which made her blush.

Ninon shook Athos’s hand and kissed his cheek. She smirked at his raised eyebrow. “You were right, and I was wrong, and never more glad to be,” she said, holding Treville’s arm.

He lifted his mug. “You look very fine together.”

“So do you all,” she said. Athos had d’Artagnan on one side, Sylvie on the other, and his arms were around both waists. “You look happy.”

“I am, extraordinarily, completely, amazingly happy.” He squeezed his companions close, and they kissed his cheek.

“Then I’m glad for you all.”

They gathered in the living room where Aramis had set up his lovely crèche, and the Christmas tree stood, blazing with lights. Athos’s father, as the oldest person there, was invited to light the Yule log, which he did with great dignity. Then it was time to open gifts. Athos’s throws were warmly welcomed, and Juliette smiled as she handed one over for him. She and Athos had made jars of peach and plum jam for his parents, while the Lemays and Treville. Ninon and the other women accepted lovely, small carved horses from d’Artagnan made from fallen oak wood on the farm. Athos gave Sylvie a mother of pearl hair comb, Juliette a soft woollen hat, and Elodie, the same. The brothers had chipped in to buy Pascal a very handsome pair of boots suitable for walking and working on the farm. And Matthieu would be taking home some of the farm’s best produce for his own kitchen.

Elodie was given the recliner, Athos’s parents the sofa, and everyone else made do with kitchen chairs, cushions or the floor as they sat around the fireplace with the burning Yule log. Athos’s mother took many photos, and so did Athos. He wanted to remind himself that life could be just about perfect, no matter how much trouble lay ahead, and memories of these bright, brief times of joy would see him through whatever came.

He slipped out to the kitchen to fetch more hot drinks. Constance joined him. “Want a hand?”

“Wouldn’t mind.” He handed her the ladle so she could deal with the wine while he poured the hot chocolate into clean mugs. “You’re looking well, I must say.” To his surprise, she blushed bright red. “Constance?”

“You know, don’t you,” she whispered.

“Know what? Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

She leaned in and said in his ear, “I’m two months pregnant. Don’t tell anyone, because we want to wait a couple of weeks to be sure.”

He turned and pulled her into a hug. “So happy for you,” he whispered back, his face split almost painfully by his happy grin.

“We’ve been trying so long. I’ve had two miscarriages but this one seems to be sticking, so fingers crossed.”

“I’ll cross everything. This is wonderful news.”

She radiated joy, and he knew of no one who deserved it more than this kind, lovely, intelligent woman who had been at their sides for years, guiding them through the worst of times, and their lowest points. “I promise to tell you officially as soon as I can.”

“May I tell Charles?” D’Artagnan adored Constance and would be ecstatic at her news.

“Yes, you can tell him. Just no one else, for now.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, let get these inside.”

********************

They sat down to eat at eight. Athos had decided to keep it simple but elegant, focusing on the farm’s own produce like goose and rabbit, Aramis’s delicious vegetables, their own goat cheese and eggs, preserves, home-made bread, and wine vinegar from d’Artagnan’s grapes had been used in several of the dishes. The wine itself was drinkable but even d’Artagnan admitted it wasn’t vintage. Pascal had brought smoked salmon from Paris, Matthieu had contributed the _bûche de Noêl_ , Athos's parents provided the wine for those who drank, and Italian mineral water for those who didn’t. Ninon brought _foie gras_ , Treville a huge box of very fine chocolate truffles, and the Lemays had brought out of season cherries and sweet melons as a light and delicious treat as a break from the luxury dishes.

Elodie picked at everything, but ate little, though she insisted it was all quite delicious. When the _bûche_ was brought out, she declined anything else. “Would anyone be offended if I took it easy in the living room for a bit?”

“Not in the slightest,” Athos assured her. “Do you want to go back to your cabin?”

“And miss out on the fun? Not at all. Just give me half an hour to settle Junior down. They’re too excited about Christmas, if you ask me.”

Porthos all but carried her from the room, and Juliette went with them to make sure she was set up comfortably. After she and Porthos returned, Athos couldn’t help but notice they were distracted for the rest of the meal, using their enhanced hearing to monitor their friend. Aramis did the same.

Athos was about to suggest tea and coffee in the living room, when Porthos, Aramis, and Juliette all said, “Elodie!” and bolted from the room. Athos’s mother snapped, “My bag, dear,” at him, and rushed after the others. Constance rose and followed more slowly, while her husband held back.

Athos brought his mother’s bag into the living room and turned all the lights on. “She’s in labour,” his mother said. Elodie was clearly in a lot of pain, grimacing and groaning. Porthos was at her head, behind the sofa’s arm, Juliette beside him, while Constance was at his mother’s side, and Aramis stood back, waiting to see if he needed help.

“I’ll call—” Athos said.

His mother cut him off. “No time. She’s crowning. This baby is going to be born right here.”

He gave her the medical bag, then ran out to the living room. “Medical kit,” he said to d’Artagnan. “Towels, lots of them,” he said to Sylvie. The two ran off to find the items. “Étienne? If you could? Elodie’s in advanced labour.”

Lemay, already on his feet, bolted into the living room. Aramis ran back out and grabbed one of the small oxygen cylinders and masks they kept in the pantry. D’Artagnan went with him back into the living room, carrying the house’s large med kit.  “Pascal, Matthieu, if you wait in here or in the kitchen with Jean and Ninon and _Papa_ , please.  Help yourself to coffee or whatever you like. There’s enough people in the living room already.”

“Don’t you want to call an ambulance?” Ninon asked.

“We have two doctors, a nurse, and several advanced first aiders in attendance,” Athos said. “And the ambulance won’t make it in time.”

Sylvie came downstairs with a pile of towels and a couple of pillows. Athos took them from her and went into the living room to deliver them. Aramis and d’Artagnan helped arrange them around Elodie, while the others concentrated on her and the baby coming three weeks early.

Athos went outside. Sylvie was waiting for him. “Anything I can do?”

“Yes, love, boil the kettle and make a big pot of tea. I suspect it’ll be needed. I’ll let you know if anything else is. She’ll be fine,” he added at her worried frown.

“The baby’s early.”

“Only three weeks.” He sounded more confident than he felt, but Elodie was in excellent hands.

He waited outside the living room door, listening to the sounds of his mother, Constance, and Lemay working calmly and confidently, Porthos encouraging Elodie and helping her with her breathing, and Elodie herself as she struggled with the process.

And then, after ten minutes, came a baby’s wail, and Aramis’s quiet “Yes!” Athos slipped into the living room. Aramis turned to him, his eyes wet. “A little girl,” he whispered. Athos hugged him tight, for although this awoke old pain, his brother was happy as well as sad.

Lemay, d’Artagnan, and Aramis left the room with him. There was a bit more to do, but Athos’s mother and Constance could handle it. There was no chance of extracting Porthos or Juliette short of using C-4, which Athos had no intention of doing.

His father had cleared some of the dishes from the living room table, and was helping serve up tea and coffee when the three of them returned. “It’s a girl,” Athos said.

“And all appears well,” Lemay added.

“Thank God,” Pascal said, speaking for all of them.

“I plan to,” Aramis said, though only for Athos’s ears.

Over the next hour, Athos’s mother dealt with the afterbirth and the aftermath. The couch was cleaned up, the mess removed, and Porthos and Juliette fetched clean clothes and a bassinet for Elodie and her baby. She would sleep in the recliner that night where Athos’s mother had volunteered to stay and keep an eye on her. Juliette announced her intention to stay as well, so a cot bed would be set up for her. Tomorrow, Elodie would take the baby up to the hospital for the mandatory checkover, and if all was well, could move back to her cabin.

But for now, Elodie insisted she didn’t want everything to stop just because she’d had a _baby_ , and so the living room filled up once more. Elodie and baby had been moved to the corner with a screen giving Elodie a little privacy if she wanted. Juliette sat on a kitchen chair beside her, watching them both with bright, fond eyes.

“Most people manage without recreating a real life nativity scene,” Ninon joked.

“Twenty-five minutes. That’s the fastest labour I’ve ever attended,” Athos’s mother said, sipping a welcome cup of tea.

“While I was still training, I had one lady who took _five_ minutes,” Constance said.

“Five minutes?” Aramis said in surprise.

“That’s not even the record, which I believe is two minutes.” Lemay said. “But precipitate labour is not that uncommon.”

“Most amazing Christmas ever,” Sylvie said. She lifted her coffee cup. “To Elodie and daughter.”

They lifted their drinks in a toast. “And to _Maman_ and the others,” Athos said. “For helping keep them both safe.”

“Do I get a say?” Elodie called. “Someone give me a glass or something.” Pascal, being closest, took her a glass of mineral water. Elodie raised it. “To my sweet, patient and wonderful doula, Porthos, the love of my life, darling Juliette, and my dear friend and donor, Matthieu. Thank you, all of you.”

“Hear, hear,” d’Artagnan called. Everyone toasted the three, while Juliette bent over and kissed Elodie’s head.

“And because you’ll be dying to know, her name is Marie-Cessette Mathilde Julie L’Archer.”

“Well done,” Athos murmured, nodding at Porthos who was beaming at Elodie. “Welcome, Marie-Cessette.”

Despite Elodie’s wish not to break things up, inevitably the party finished early because nothing could possibly top what had already happened that night. Athos’s father took their guests home, Athos following to pick up his mother’s overnight things. The others cleaned up the kitchen and headed to bed while Athos was at the other house, and he returned to find Sylvie making up the sofa bed and Juliette the cot next to Elodie’s chair. Elodie was breastfeeding, smiling beatifically at her daughter.

“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable here?” he asked.

“Absolutely. I don’t have to move a muscle and I have helpers right here. Athos, it’s over. Go to bed. If I so much as sneeze, I will have half a dozen people here ready to wipe my nose.”

He grinned. “Very likely. _Maman_?”

“I’m fine, son. Everyone did very well tonight.”

“So long as they don’t expect a repeat performance next Christmas.”

“Once was _quite_ enough,” she said, sharing a wry look with him.

Sylvie touched his arm. “See you upstairs, darling.”

“Of course.”

Juliette was getting on quietly, not looking at them and not commenting. “Will you be comfortable on that?” Athos asked. “I think we have one or two throws you could borrow if not.”

She straightened up. “Athos, please go to bed. We’ve got it.”

“ _You’ve_ got it.”

“Yes.” Her smile reached right up to her eyes. "And after all that, we didn’t even have to go to hospital.” She glanced at Elodie who grinned back.

“Never mind. I’m sure those skills will come in handy at some point.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas, and well done.”

She kissed him back, to his surprise. “Same to you. Now, go away and let us get some sleep.”

He saluted. “Yes, _madame_ major.”

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the door. “Shoo. Now.”

He shooed. To his total lack of surprise, he found all of his brothers and Sylvie waiting for him in his bed. He quickly stripped and dived in amongst them, kissing Porthos and Aramis before being claimed by d’Artagnan and Sylvie. “Unto us a child is given,” Aramis murmured.

“It’s even a virgin birth, from a technical point of view,” Sylvie said.

“So what you’re saying,” d’Artagnan said slowly, “is that downstairs, in our living room, is Jesus’s baby sister.”

Athos held his breath, waiting. Porthos cracked first, then Sylvie, and then the whole bed shook with suppressed giggles and chuckles.

“You are all dreadful heathens, and I love you all very much,” Aramis declared.

Athos murmured his agreement, then made himself comfortable with one last declaration. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.”


End file.
